thistle & weeds
by antivancrows
Summary: [Evans!OC] Poppy Evans is getting sick of magic and she isn't even capable of it.
1. now i know my love for her goes on

_Disclaimer: This story is going to hurt me more than it will hurt u_

* * *

 ** _prologue_**

 _theme:_

 _[ every little thing she does is magic._

 _sleeping at last ]_

* * *

"I thought she'd be here," Lily says for what seems like the thousandth time. A truly pained expression written plainly on her face. "She - I _know_ our relationship has always been rocky, but..."

 _It's my wedding day. It's my wedding day and our parents are dead and only one of my sisters are here._

Lily is too kind to list Petunia's ever growing transgressions aloud, but her younger sister is not.

Sighing, paired with a weary expression, Poppy Evans brings a tissue to wipe at the make up smudging just beneath the lovely bride's emerald eyes. "I warned you not to get your hopes up. Petunia has never been the type to compromise, you know that."

"I'm her _sister_!"

"I know," Poppy offers, smiling sadly. "I know. It's okay, it's _going_ to be okay, I promise. You're still going to have the big day of your dreams. Shouldn't you be thrilled? Come on, then," the brunette girl nudges her elder sister's shoulders, playfully. "Let's see a smile."

"..." Lily stares at her, mouth set stubbornly in a scowl, before cracking just a smidgen. "...I suppose you're right. This isn't the time to be moping... It's just..."

"You have every right to be upset, Lily," concedes Poppy, playing with a stray curl and tucking it behind Lily's ear. "But we both know that you deserve to be happy today... If tomorrow you want to spend the beginning of your honeymoon moaning about how awful Tuney is, then that's up to Potter to deal with."

Her sister laughs a little at that.

"That is, assuming, you won't be otherwise occupied."

"Poppy!"

"What? You're about to be a married woman," she remarks slyly. "Or have you forgotten?"

The conversation slows after Lily casts some sort of spell to seal her makeup that Poppy can't even begin to fathom, whilst the other bridesmaids crowd the room and make busy work for themselves in getting ready. Alice is the only one that Poppy is really familiar with, out of all of Lily's school friends, so she slides off to converse with her while Marlene and Emmaline gush over how beautiful of a bride Lily makes.

"Never let me agree to be a Maid of Honor again," Poppy says dryly, smoothing out the creases in the long skirt of her dress. Alice smiles knowingly. "Especially not for a... _wizarding_ wedding. I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here."

"You've done wonderfully. I know Lily is thrilled with the arrangements."

"And Potter?"

Alice's responding laugh is giddy. "I honestly don't think he cares one way or another, as long as he ends up married to your sister."

"True enough," murmurs the youngest Evans, glancing sidelong at her sister laughing with her friends. She's only met Potter a handful of times, the rehearsals for the wedding aside. A good man, she remembers she decided nearly at once. Hair's a bit of a mess, and he has an awkward sort of sense of humor, but maybe that's a wizarding thing?

 _He loves Lily_ , she knows. _And that's all that matters_.

 _That's enough._

* * *

One of James' ushers takes her by the arm with a wry smile. She returns it, though worry settles in her gut at the nearly exhausted expression that overwhelms his usually handsome face. "Alright, Lupin?" she whispers, as they wait to enter. His eyes are trained on Marlene and James' best man, almost intently, before he smiles sheepishly at her inquiry.

"Just a bit tired. Been an experience, hasn't it?"

Relieved, Poppy grins back."It'll be over before you know it. Then... back to the usual." Something sinks in her gut as she realizes that their ' _usuals_ ' vary drastically. She'll go back to studying for final exams, and Lily will, hopefully, live out the fairytale she'd always dreamed of as a little girl. It wouldn't be difficult for her to forget Poppy entirely, like Petunia was trying to do to her...

 _Lily wouldn't do that,_ she chides herself firmly. _She'll write just like always._ _You're being silly._

"Alright, Evans?" Remus echoes back, and though his tone is light, he does look genuinely concerned.

A bit startled, Poppy huffs a laugh quietly. "Just a bit tired."

"A'right, you two're up."

"Ready?" Lupin asks grandly, as though she isn't already attached to him at the arm.

"As ever," she affirms, feeling a bit sick with nerves.

And together they go, floating as gracefully as they can manage with their marginal height difference. James beams at his dear friend and as they draw nearer to the end of the aisle, he smiles crookedly at Poppy herself, running a hand through his already tousled locks.

"You had better fix that before Lily shows up," she suggests, feigning a severe expression.

Remus snickers at James' stricken expression before letting her go. And as Poppy takes her rightful place beside Marlene, she notices bemusedly, that Potter has enlisted the help of his best man to quickly tidy the state of his hair.

"Oh, honestly," Marlene sighs, but she's smiling fondly.

When Lily does enter, the room goes silent. James cries, but he is hardly the only one.

What should feel like a beautiful beginning feels like a bittersweet ending.

* * *

The reception is, perhaps, the most bizarre experience of all. And considering the company she kept during the planning of this wedding, that's saying something. Lily and James' first dance is more of a group event, and nearly all of her wizarding friends join in. It's too elaborate for Poppy to really identify if the origin could even be vaguely... normal? Muggle? Is that the word?

Lily beams the whole time, though, and that's enough.

Also, instead of the usual suit and tie attire, most of the guests are adorned in colorful robes. It's odd, but in a sort of enchanting way. Poppy has never seen such a collective gathering of such strange people but it's as pleasant of an after party as she's ever seen.

Potter's parents pull her aside briefly, offering her gratitude for her work, which is more than a little startling. They look a little older than her own parents were before their passing. Still, Mrs. Potter is stunning with stark black hair pulled into an elegant twist and her deep ruby robes.

"Oh, but you are _darling_ , just like your sister," she insists. "I've been told you were in change of the floral arrangements? They are simply magnificent."

If Poppy blushes at the compliment, it doesn't seem to deter the woman whatsoever. "I'm actually hoping to become a florist once I've finished school," she admits shyly.

"Florist?" Mr. Potter ponders.

"Something similar to a herbalist, dear."

"Ah. Well, if you do half as well as you've done here tonight, I'm sure you'll find no trouble in your endeavors, Miss Evans."

"Thank you," Poppy squeaks out, almost completely mortified at the praise.

Soon enough, though, they are drawn away to go fawn over the happy couple, thankfully. A dull set of green eyes scan the dance floor, and Poppy catches the eye of a bubbly Alice dancing with her husband, Frank. Alice winks at her conspiratorially. She offers her a thumbs up, though she's not sure if the gesture is lost on the born-witch.

"Come on, then," a familiar voice says from behind her. Poppy jumps, and suddenly she can hear the melodic laughter of her older sister.

" _Lily_ ," she sighs, exasperatedly.

"You can't stand in this corner all night... And I know you're too shy to ask anyone to dance, and your glaring is going to scare any potential suitors off, so let's go," and with that, Lily tugs at her hand and pulls her to the makeshift dance floor.

"This is embarrassing," Poppy grumbles, though she follows Lily's movements almost automatically. Ingrained instinct from when Petunia would make her 'play the prince' when they all pretended to attend a grand ball, like in Cinderella. "I'm leading."

"Of course," Lily snorts, but she's still positively glowing.

They follow the music a bit awkwardly. She can see James and his best man following their steps almost sarcastically. The best man even demands to be dipped at one point, causing Lily to roll her eyes dramatically. "The _pair_ of them, I swear."

"He's a wizard, too, right?"

"Hm? Oh. Sirius. Have you two really not met?"

Poppy shrugs. "He wasn't my walking partner, and had little to do with the decorating, so it never came up?"

Lily nods in understanding. "Yes, he was in our House at school. He's practically James' brother. He's a terrible flirt, so I'm a little glad you aren't acquainted."

"Right," and with that admission, Poppy is a little glad, too. "You're happy, then?"

"Ecstatic."

"Even with Tuney being Tuney?"

Lily purses her lips, but nods once more." Even with Tuney being Tuney."

"I met Potter's parents."

"Oh?"

"His mother called me _darling_ ," Poppy scrunches her nose up, and it's a miracle they haven't fallen out of her head by now, because Lily's eyes roll towards the ceiling once more.

" _You are_ darling."

"You have to say that, we have the same genes."

"- Excuse me, ladies? May we cut in?"

Poppy's blood goes cold, but when she sees that 'Sirius' has his mischievous eyes on Lily, and James has his hand out to her, she calms. Lily glances at her, silently questioning. Poppy merely nods. This is fine, he is her brother now, after all.

"Alright, _Mrs. Potter_ , let's see if you've improved since Hogwarts," Sirius drawls, smirking. Lily makes a face at him but accepts his open hand regardless.

"Don't call her Mrs. Potter, sounds like my Mum!" James calls after them, and Sirius' barking laughter echoes throughout the hall. Shaking his head of unruly hair, he turns back to Poppy with a charming grin. "Anyway, shall we?"

"We shall," Poppy says dryly, taking his hand and allowing him to lead.

"Bit weird to have a sister now," he remarks, glancing down at her.

"Bit weird to have a wizard brother _and_ sister now."

"Fair," he laughs. "Suppose this was a harrowing experience for you? Still, I'm glad you made the most of it. I know it made Lily happy." The knowing look he offers her tells Poppy that he knows _all about_ Petunia.

Poppy shrugs, smiling a little sadly. "It's what sisters do."

"Hmmm," James hums, eyes trailing over to where Lily is animatedly snapping at his best man, whilst he grins at her like the cat who got the cream. "Just like school," he chuckles.

"They didn't get along?" She knows that Lily had vehemently denied having feelings for James for years before finally accepting the truth, but she had always heard little about her other attachments.

"She didn't like any of us. Aside from Remus, I guess? Arrogant toe-rag, I believe, is the term she used for me... Sirius usually got something more creative, and colorful."

Poppy snorts, clearly reminiscing upon the clever insults thrown her way during childhood arguments.

"Her temper is unrivaled," James agrees, getting a misty look in his eyes. "I love that woman."

"I hope so. You just married her."

"I did, didn't I? _Blimey_."

"Are you going to cry?"

"...No."

Poppy grins, as the song comes to a slow close. "You are, but I won't tell if you don't?"

His returning watery grin is enough to quell any remaining fears she had.

 _Lily's going to be so happy._

 _That's enough._

* * *

 ** _AN;_**

* * *

 _This was just the prologue, normal chapters should be a bit longer generally !_

 _Please keep in mind, I'm gonna have to play w/ canon A LOT to get where I want this to go. So bear with me? (This timeline is gonna be a hot MESS)_

 _++ I'm not tagging the planned main ship bc I want it to be a surprise but it's not Sirius/OC even tho that's what it probably seemed like (and will continue to seem like for a while) sorry I'm baiting the dog lovers. I played myself. I said it'd be a mess so if you choose to stick around regardless that's on u ok bye_


	2. well, you changed and the truth got lost

_Disclaimer: angst angst angst angst_

* * *

 _ **chapter 1**_

 _theme:_

 _[ talk._

 _kodaline ]_

* * *

 _The empty house is mocking me_ , Poppy thinks. Lily's written at least twice since the start of her honeymoon, and selfishly, in her own opinion, it isn't enough. Where her parents used to fill the silence with their silly stories from work, or just their father making his same old tired jokes... There is nothing now. Not even Lily, off living out her fairytale.

How can she resent her for being happy when it's all that she wanted for her?

Petunia has gone off on vacation with Vernon and his family.

It's a _little_ easier to resent her, if only because she's been volatile to the both of them since Lily was first off to Hogwarts. Lily was too much of a freak, and Poppy was too dumb, young, and indifferent to really care. When she couldn't bully that indifference out of her, Poppy became enemy number two.

 _The world was always against poor Petunia._

Poppy snorts to herself, feeling the anger settle in her gut like fire.

Not so much a phone call since the funeral.

The feeling of being forgotten is a bitter one, and so Poppy throws herself into her work. Studying tirelessly for her exams like she'd planned from the start. But even this will come to an end when graduation comes peering around the corner in a few months. Will Petunia come? Will Lily be too busy being a witch and a wife?

 _Do I even have a family anymore...?_

Lily's letters become less frequent after a few weeks. (And about fifty promises of a visit, soon! Soon.) So, Poppy gets herselfs a part-time job at a small flower shop a few minutes walk from their street. She studies and studies and studies and inevitably passes her exams with flying colors. Graduation reers its head, and she sends a tentative invitation to each of her sisters.

Petunia calls one night to inform her she's busy planning her own wedding, _sorry._

 _When did she get engaged_?

Lily writes that she's due for a visit soon, she _promises_. She'll be there with Potter. She will.

Poppy can't find it in herself to care one way or another anymore.

* * *

She decides not to attend graduation, after all, the spitefulness inside her finally winning out. She has her instructors send the diploma to her new flat, the one she rented with a small amount of the money she'd got from inheritance, and a little of the bit she saved from her part-time job. It's small, just enough to not be so hugely empty that she has to feel the quiet will swallow her whole.

Lily's meek apology for not being able to attend a few days later comes as no surprise and Poppy feels little guilt in tearing it to shreds.

At least Petunia makes it crystal clear that she doesn't care.

Why bother pretending?

Her part-time job becomes something a little more stable. The owner, a sweet old lady named Mrs. Willows has something akin to fondness for Poppy. She eventually begins teaching her how to make attractive arrangements suited to each customer's needs. Sometimes it's tedious work, but it's work, and work keeps the meddlesome thoughts away.

It's enough.

...For a while.

One day late in July, Sirius Black interrupts that peace.

"You..." She gapes at him, lackluster green eyes widening. He looks awkward among all the flowers - his leather jacket, and long hair a stark contrast to the daisies he picks at, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"We need to talk. Can you take your break early? Or, you know, call it a day? This might... be a while."

"...I'm not..." Poppy swallows the panic building in her throat. "I'm not going anywhere _with you_! Where's Lily?"

The letters had stopped, but Poppy was left to assume it only meant she was busy playing house with her husband... But what if something's happened? God...she'd been almost as bitter as Petunia, what if...?

Sensing her distress, the wizard puts his hands before him in a placating gesture that _isn't_ placating at all to her. "She's fine. James is fine. Everyone's fine. Just... There's been a situation, and there's a discussion that needs to be had. I can take you to Lily, but you need to trust me."

" _Trust you_? I don't know you! _Where's my sister_ ," she demands once more.

"Everything alright out here, dear?" Mrs. Willows appears, like a blessing sent from heaven. Sirius takes one look at the frail woman and lets out a deep sigh, tossing a look towards Poppy that plainly says ' _are you serious_?'.

"Fine. Everything's fine, Mrs. Willows," Poppy interjects, eyes narrowing at Sirius who appears to be reaching for something in his back pocket. Oh... _hell no_. "If I might step out a moment? He's a...family friend," she shuts her eyes, feeling a mild migraine coming on.

Mrs. Willows still eyes the wizard suspiciously, but concedes. "Alright, sweetheart. If you need anything I'm just a shout away." In other words, if this man tries anything funny he'll have a furious old woman to deal with. Poppy nearly smiles.

Sirius gestures towards the door, and reluctantly, Poppy follows. They step out into the street and towards an inconspicuous looking alley way to avoid any passerby eavesdropping, she assumes.

"What is it," she demands, not in the mood for pleasantries. "Why is it my own sister couldn't come and see me herself? What's so important that she couldn't make it to my graduation? Why she can't be bothered to _write_ me, even?"

He blinks at her, silver-blue eyes almost astonished at her gall.

"Are you going to answer my questions, or am I going back to work?"

"Blimey, alright. Just calm down. I'll answer what I can," he says in what she supposes is an attempt to be soothing. It is not. "Lily's _fine._ Like I said."

Poppy exhales. "So, what's with the cloak and dagger?"

"What?"

"It's an _expression_. Why the secrecy?"

Sirius gets a dark look in his eyes, then. "I don't... think we should talk about it here. Short uncomplicated version, we have reason to believe you aren't safe as you are. There's going to be talk of moving you to a safehouse - that's what Lily wanted, at least. Maybe with her and James for a while."

"A safehouse?" _What?_ "Why wouldn't I be safe?"

What's so dangerous in Cokeworth? Let alone so dangerous that she needs to be relocated to a _safehouse_ of all things?

He curses, like she's expected to know this supposed _danger_. "Did Lily ever tell you much about school?"

"Just...Just the magic-y bits. Like charms and stuff. She loved talking about charms?"

"Evans," he growls, and Poppy is at once offended. "Not _you_. She should've told you, or warned you or something. Bloody hell..." He breathes heavily, like this is the absolute last conversation he wants to have.

 _Well. Same_ , Poppy thinks in annoyance. "I want to see Lily."

Sirius' eyes go heavenward before meeting her own. "Can you get the day off?"

"Probably."

"Alright. Meet me back here once you're free," he says. "And prepare yourself, this isn't likely to be fun for you."

And that's his final ominous warning.

* * *

Upon her return, the first thing he asks is, "Has Lily ever apparated with you?"

"... _What_?"

"Figures," Sirius sighs forlornly. "You must've at least Floo'd? For the wedding?"

Poppy feels another migraine coming on, and senses it must be an occurring trend with arduous blokes named Sirius Black hanging about. "If by _'Floo'd'_ you mean the chimney thing, then yes. I've 'Floo'd'. It almost ruined my dress, and I'm not eager to repeat the experience," she warns.

"Apparition isn't messy," he says, nearly laughing at her indignant tone. "If you do it _right_ , that is. Just uncomfortable."

"Are we 'apparating'?"

"Easiest way of getting to our destination, I'm afraid," remarks Sirius breezily. "We'll probably have to land someplace outside the wards, though. Can't just pop in, not polite. You got a problem with bikes?"

"Bikes," Poppy repeats. "Like... _motorcycles_?" she asks with dread. "Or the bikes that you ride in secondary school?"

"Ah, I can already tell you're fun at parties."

"I'm _not_ getting on a bike with you."

"You're _not_ really getting a choice, love." He chuckles, and extends his arm. Poppy glances around, making sure no prying eyes are upon them... He seems less concerned. Noting her wariness, he adds. "I've charmed the alley temporarily while you were gone. No one'll see a thing. Come on, then, Pop."

 _Pop?_ She'll let it slide. Once.

She takes his arm, and shuts her eyes tightly. "Don't get me killed, please."

Unsurprisingly, it feels just as he described. Uncomfortable, like being shrunk and resized repeatedly whilst traveling through one of those water-slide tubes they used to frequent at parks in the summers away from school. It didn't last overlong, however, thankfully.

"I'm going to be sick," Poppy says at once.

"Not on me, I hope," Black quips, and does something she can't see with her vision blurred over like this. The nausea in her stomach lessens a little but still persists. "That should do it for now. You alright to walk? My bike is just 'round the bend."

Still a bit dizzy, Poppy can feel her nostrils flare in annoyance. "I already told you I'm not - "

"You want to see Lily or not? I'm doing you a favor." At her obviously stricken expression, he softens a little. "I promise I'm a safe driver. Took the test for my Muggle license and everything. We won't fly if it makes you feel better."

"Fly? It can _fly_?"

Wizards. Making certified deathtraps even more dangerous. _Of course_.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Poppy admits woefully. "Why am I surprised?"

"Come on," he insists, taking her by the arm.

He's right - it isn't a long walk at all, but the sight of the bike doesn't quell her fears whatsoever. Not that she expected it to. To its credit, it looks _normal_ , but now that she knows it can defy gravity, the nervousness in her belly won't settle down. Rightfully so, in her own opinion.

Ever the gentlemen, he holds out the sole helmet to her. "For safety," he winks.

"Where's yours?"

"It'll mess my hair up," he answers, almost affronted.

"Not as badly as a traumatic head injury in an accident will," she shoots back, having none of it. Still, she puts the helmet on. No use in the both of them suffering from his idiocy.

He groans. "Are you sure you aren't Lily under a glamour? The prickliness is uncanny. That a family thing?"

"How about you wait until you survive a meeting with Petunia before you make judgment calls on my so-called _'prickliness'_?"

" _No_ thank you," he whistles, climbing on and patting the seat behind him with intent. "It's not even a long ride. Honest. Just against the rules for us to apparate within the wards. I'm not doing this to torture you, I promise."

He looks genuine... _Still_. "...Alright," Poppy slides behind him, and wraps her arms around his middle, to which he chuckles at her hesitant touch. "That's not helping."

"Sorry. You're going to need to hold on tight if you don't want to go flying off, that's all."

Immediately, her grip tightens, and she can feel his back shake with mirth. "Is that a joke? Don't joke with me while I'm sitting on a deathtrap. This is a very trying experience for me, okay?"

"Just hold on," he says at last.

* * *

She has words for Lily, _a lot_ of words. An infinite amount of words, actually. Yet, the moment she lays eyes on her weary sister, she's at a loss for any. They won't come to her and the only thing she can find it in herself to do is wrap her in a hug.

"I'm _so_ glad you're safe," Lily murmurs into her hair. She can feel James and Sirius watching them cautiously. Poppy doesn't care. "You don't know how worried I've been. Oh, but I'm so proud of you! Your graduation - "

" _Forget_ my graduation," the younger sister interjects, pulling away from the embrace slightly. "What's going on, Lily?"

Lily stiffens. "I... Let's go inside, yeah? Make a cup of tea, have a talk."

It's almost verbatim what Mum used to say to try and get them to all settle down after having a row. Poppy doesn't trust it, but Poppy also doesn't have a choice _._

"Sounds delightful," Sirius exclaims, dramatically, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. James just looks like he wants to smack him upside the head.

"Yeah, okay. A talk," she says quietly, following her sister and her new little family into their make-shift home. It's smaller than she would have expected, what with Potter apparently being loaded in the wizard kind-of-way. Whatever that means. But it's homey, which is exactly what she'd expect from Lily. Sort of reminds her of their childhood home.

Lily leads her into the kitchen and begins preparing the tea silently.

It's so quiet.

 _It's not enough._

"I apparated today," Poppy offers.

" _Uh_ \- " Sirius corrects, apparently eager to add to the noise. "She side-alonged."

Lily glances back at him, eyebrows furrowed. "You apparated with my sister, _knowing_ you could've splinched her?"

" _Splinched_?"

"Temporary loss of muscle, skin, some hair...a limb or two," he waves his hand around, casually. "It wasn't likely. I've gotten better since school."

"You could've _dismembered_ me?" Poppy squeaks.

"I didn't, though."

"You _could've_!"

"I _didn't_ ," he persists. "Besides, there are bigger things to worry about, aren't there, Evans? Sorry, not you. _Mrs. Potter_?"

James lets out the lowest sound Poppy's ever heard from him. "Sirius..."

"What? Is it my fault that _she didn't tell her_ _family anything_?" The look Lily shoots over the shoulder towards him could kill, and it leaves Poppy almost astonished at the vitriol that accompanies it. Sirius, at least, has the awareness to appear properly reprimanded.

"It doesn't matter," Poppy intervenes, tone level. She doesn't know what she came here looking for, exactly, but she knows it wasn't a _fight._ "It doesn't matter what she did or didn't tell me. Just. Tell me now," at this, she turns her gaze towards her very guilt-ridden sister. "Why am I in danger? Why didn't you just come tell me yourself?"

Lily sighs, setting down a cup before her sister and settling down in a chair. "Earl-Grey," she says and at Poppy's less than amused expression, she continues. "I wish I could've but we're in a bit of a precarious situation here."

"Why?"

"The..." Lily's eyes grow misty, and it comes out in a gasp. "The Potters are dead."

Dread settles, and Poppy's mind flashes back to images of the stunning Mrs. Potter praising her floral arrangements, and the sturdy Mr. Potter offering his agreement. "But...They're wizards... I mean. Wizards live longer than most, right? Old age is less severe? That's what you said, isn't it?

"That's how it's supposed to be. They were killed," James says, eyes dark.

" _Killed_?" Poppy's eyes fly back to Lily. "How? And, I'm sorry. _Really, truly_ sorry, but...What does this have to do with me? It's awful, certainly but - "

Lily puts her head in her hands, looking truly stressed. "A dark wizard. Or his followers, I should say. I won't say his name, you don't...need to know it. It's probably _safer_ if you don't. He targets Muggleborn families mostly, but he'll go after Pureblood families that he deems as 'Bloodtraitors' as well."

"You're...a Muggleborn," Poppy croaks, the fear finally creeping in. "You're in danger? How long has this been going on?"

"Poppy, I need you to listen to me. And I need you to not...be angry with me. Please," Lily says slowly, almost pleadingly, and the fear crawls all the way up her spine. James looks away, and Sirius can't meet her eyes either. "...Mum and Dad... didn't die in a freak accident."

Don't be angry.

Be upset, scream, cry, but _don't be angry._

"They were murdered."

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _We in for it now..._ _What's the point in OC's if u can't make them suffer_ ┬┴┬┴┤( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴

 _++ Language is gonna get stronger from this point on, as Poppy gets a little angrier etc etc, not nearly as vulgar as some of my other stuff but definitely more than the usual HP universe so heads up ya girl is dangerous and emotionally compromised_

 _Thank you for your time !~_


	3. love is not a victory march

_Disclaimer: tfw the wizard people tell u nothing_ (눈_눈)

* * *

 **chapter 2**

 _theme:_

 _[ hallelujah._

 _safetysuit ]_

* * *

Lily has the audacity to look appalled that the first question out of Poppy's mouth is, "Does Petunia know?" When she receives no answer, just the screaming silence of the entire kitchen, she asks once more. " _Does Petunia know_?" Her tone severe. Not angry. Not yet.

"I...She probably suspects," Lily admits, covering her eyes with her palms. Her back shakes as she lets out little sobs and James is at her side swiftly, which only serves to irritate Poppy further. "When she didn't show up for the wedding..."

"She had reason," Poppy finishes, leaning back in her seat. She's already grieved her parents. She doesn't want to do it all over again... A pang of guilt hits her at the thought that she didn't do it in the correct way. She didn't feel the sick need for justice, didn't get angry on their behalf. She didn't _know_. And... "You let me think she was being petty."

"I didn't want you to know the truth. I wanted to keep you _safe_. You were still in school... I just wanted you to be able to move on without living in fear. Can you understand that?" Lily pleads, peering through her fingers at her little sister. "This had _nothing_ to do with Petunia, I promise you. You have to believe that, at least."

"Well, it has everything to do with her now," Poppy lets out a shaky breath. "We have to tell her. If we're in danger, then she is, too. She needs to know."

"She won't accept protection, you _know_ she won't."

Poppy knows her sister well enough to hear the unsaid ' _she won't forgive me for this one'_. She also knows Petunia well enough to know this is very much true.

"Well, that's just _tough_ , Lily. We both got shit from Petunia growing up, what's so different about it now? She's our sister! If you won't do something about it, I will," and with that she gets up from her chair with a loud, disruptive screech as it skids against the linoleum floor. "I want to go home now."

At this, James ceases the comforting circles he'd been rubbing into Lily's back. The look he fixes her with is not a particularly friendly one. "That's not a good idea."

"Oh? You know what also _wasn't_ a good idea? Keeping secrets in the first place."

"Alright, cool it, bird." Sirius intervenes for the first time, looking grim. "You wanna take a walk? Cool down a bit? Let's take a walk," he shoots James a look that Poppy doesn't miss. The fury in her gut isn't yet fit to burst, though, so she remains silent.

"Call me 'bird' again and you won't survive this walk," Poppy warns, once they've made it outside.

Sirius' accompanying laugh is a hollow sounding one.

The village they are in is small, and Poppy doubts that's a coincidence. _Safehouse_ , indeed. Sirius seems content enough to walk circles around the little houses, to let her stew in her own anger and grief. Eventually, the silence stops being helpful and starts creating visions of her parents being brutally attacked with magic and she can't take it any longer.

"How," she asks, voice hoarse. "How...do wizards kill?"

Seemingly unsurprised by her sudden line of questioning, Sirius shrugs. "Depends on the intent. Some are quicker than others."

"How did _my parents_ die," she clarifies, staring at the ground. "The quick way?"

A pause and then. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

She glances at him, and he avoids her gaze. Finally, she exhales brokenly. "I know this isn't Lily's fault. I don't want her to feel like that's what I think."

"Then maybe tell her," he suggests lightly, and she knows that his loyalty to Lily is far greater than his minimal concern for her feelings in that moment. It'd be nice to have someone on her side in this, but she knows she will not find it here in _Bizarre Wizard Country._

"But... she's wrong about Petunia. She does need protection, even if she doesn't want it."

"Tell her that, too."

"I can't look at her right now. I just see Mum," comes her frail, quiet admission. "It wasn't like this before, when I thought they died in an accident. Why's it changed?"

Sirius remains silent, so she goes on. "I don't want to grieve all over again. I don't want to feel like this...To have to wonder how much they suffered, or what they thought of at the end. I don't want to know that in the back of my mind, I'm always going to relate their death to Lily for something that's _not her fault_. I just...It was easier before when it wasn't anyone's fault. When Petunia was just being as bitter as ever, and I could go for a bloody walk without someone feeling the need to play babysitter."

He gives her an uneasy look, one she doesn't particularly like.

" _What_ ," she asks, almost too weary to be truly exasperated. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"...I shouldn't even be considering telling you this."

"What," Poppy presses. "More secrets? _Really_?"

"She's going to kill me," Sirius mutters to himself, running a hand through his curly locks and giving them a firm tug in frustration. "She's going to use my head as a mantel piece... Okay, listen, how much do you remember of your parents' ' _supposed_ ' death from before?"

At the question, Poppy frowns, thinking back. She remembers the funeral, a somber affair naturally. She remembers distant relatives offering their condolences for the devastating accident that took both of her parents. _At least it was quick_ , they'd said. Now horrible possibilities run rampant, maybe it _wasn't_ quick at all, maybe it was gruesome and horrible and she'd never known it all this time... As eldest, Petunia had chosen closed-casket. Poppy had never thought to ask why before now.

Tears stinging her eyes, she turns to him with a grief stricken expression. "What's the point of this, then? I don't remember anything, just that it was some sort of accident because that's all anyone told me!"

 _Don't be angry._

 _Be upset, scream, cry, but don't be angry._

The words are familiar, like someone had told her them in a barely recalled dream.

 _Lily?_

"Alright, alright," Sirius soothes. "That's enough of... _that._ I shouldn't have said anything. It's just going to make things more difficult."

" _No_. You didn't make me relive all that just for kicks, Sirius Black. Tell me what I'm missing. I said I was done with secrets, and I meant it!"

"This isn't my secret to - "

" _Then why did you say anything at all_?" Poppy wants to scream, but instead, she glares at him silently before storming off back to the Potter's. Silver-blue eyes follow her briefly, then he takes off after her, cursing under his breath.

* * *

When Poppy returns, the Potter family have company, it seems. Remus meets her at the door, a surprised look in his eyes. She tries her very hardest not to glare at perhaps the one man who doesn't deserve it, but it's awfully difficult. He eyes her carefully before catching sight of Sirius trailing a little behind and the perpetually tired man sighs in resignation.

"Hello, Poppy," he offers kindly, whilst fixing Sirius with an irritated look.

"Remus," she greets, voice hoarse from all her blubbering. "Doing well?" She asks, fighting the urge to run and hide so she can cry some more. Her parents didn't raise her to be so rude, even in trying times such as these. ' _Evans' have always done much more with much less, haven't we, Pop_?' Her father's voice in her head is almost too much.

"I'm fine," he says, following her to the parlor area. "Are you...?"

"Leave it, Moony," Sirius warns, stepping in through the door. It clicks shut behind him. "This is one of those things you can't fix with chocolate."

Remus lets out another sigh, and it's a small comfort to Poppy to see that nearly everyone he interacts with reacts to Sirius Black in the same manner. "Lily and James are meeting with someone right now in the kitchen, but if you're hungry, I could step out and pick up something?"

 _So, a secret meeting after an afternoon already filled with too many bloody secrets. Wonderful._

Poppy exhales, eyebrows furrowing. "I'm not hungry, but thank you." She plops down on the sofa, and tries very hard not to think overmuch about the events of the day and what it means going forward. Nothing good, she's sure. It's worth a try, though, she supposes. "Who are they meeting with?"

The two wizards share a look.

"Alright, _don't_ tell me."

"It's not that we don't want to," assures Remus, but it hardly helps. "It's just that being cautious is key for now. That's all, right, Sirius?"

Sirius glances between them both before growling out, "They're in meeting with a few members of our.. _.Organization_...about what to do with you."

" _Padfoot_!"

"I told her the bare minimum, alright? She's been miserable all day. Lily's wanted to see me hang for less, that's nothing new. I'll tell her I did it, not you."

Poppy sits up at once, expression perplexed. "What to do with me?"

"Where you'll be staying," Remus corrects. Of course, he's the one to put a diplomatic twist on something so blatantly intended to disregard her own feelings. "A few members have offered to take you in for a time. Some... Well, _one_ in particular member, feels leaving you with Lily and James poses a risk not worth taking."

"Why?"

"Because you can be tied to Lily easily by name alone, if one of our enemies were to actually do their research," at this, Sirius snorts. "Especially for the ones that know her from school. Try not to worry about it, right now, alright?" Remus keeps his tone gentle, it exudes the kind of warmth one would expect from a primary school teacher. She thinks he's missed his calling if he's playing _Wizard 007.  
_

"How can I not?" Poppy inquires, voice raising just a smidgen. "This is my life that's being discussed, and I'm not even allowed a word in edgewise!"

"Because you don't know the danger like we do," Sirius interjects. "You just need to have a little faith. Can't you trust your sister, at least?"

" _I don't know_ , Sirius. Can _she_ stop acting like she knows best for once and trust _me_ enough to share things with me? Can _everyone_ just stop trying to baby me and tell me what's actually going on for once?"

Sirius gets a dark look in his eye, one that, evidently, Remus doesn't like because he quickly intervenes. "Alright, alright. Enough of that. Padfoot, you know better... And Poppy, I'm sorry. Why don't you get some rest? I'm sure Lily will be ready to have a talk by then." He gestures towards the small staircase and Poppy eyes it warily. "A nap might be good for the nerves," he presses. "The spare bedroom is your first door on the left."

"Fine," she says, and at once the two wizards look like the worst of it might be over. _  
_

* * *

The nap seems like a good idea, until images of her parents dying over and over in various horrible ways begin to appear every time she tries to shut her eyes. Sometimes it's quick, just a flash of light and it's over. Others are less so. Bursts of light, the summoning of nasty and gnarled creatures sent to rip them apart piece by piece... She stops trying after that particular one. The bloodcurdling scream she let out left her throat feeling raw and dry, but with no idea whether the meeting is still happening she can't really traverse down to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Just as she attempts to catch her breath and swallow the bile rising in her throat at the visceral imagery of her nightmares, there's a timid knock at the door.

 _I'm really not in the mood_ , Poppy thinks.

"Are you asleep?"

Lily.

"Yes," Poppy responds, annoyed. She hears her sister laugh a little and mutter something so the lock disengages on her side. Magic is the worst. "I'm trying to go back to sleep."

"I heard you scream. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Lily responds lightly. At her little sister's miserable expression, she gestures for Poppy to scoot over, and like a good and proper little sister she does as she's expected. Lily sits beside her, pulling the covers over both of their legs. "Just like when we were kids, hm?"

"Only this time my nightmares aren't about school bullies cutting my hair off."

"If only, right?"

Poppy hums her agreement, looking towards the ceiling. It takes a minute to brace herself to ask the imperative question. "Sirius said you were in a meeting with someone. Talking about ' _what to do_ ' with me."

Lily sighs. "Of course he told you, the prat."

"This seems like something _you_ should've told me."

"I was _going_ to, I promise." Her sister explains, a weary look in her eyes. "You're still grieving, I get that. You need time to process what happened and I just don't know if we can afford time these days... I only need you to be safe. I know that infuriates you, that I'm trying to do all of this behind your back, but all I want is for you to live a _long_ , happy life."

Poppy is too tired to argue, though she desperately wants to. She probably should. "I want that for you, too." She finally says, quietly. "But I can't protect you. I can't do anything." Poppy pulls at the covers, twisting them between her fingers in agitation. She suspects that this intense feeling of helplessness won't be going away anytime soon. Fantastic.

"You _can_ give me peace of mind by not hating me when I tell you what the long-term plan is," replies Lily, only half-jokingly. More seriously, she adds, "Poppy, things are very different now from when we were kids. It's not the end of the world if you can't tug the braids of the girls who make fun of my red hair anymore, alright? Let me take care of things."

With a solemn nod, Poppy relents... _But_... "What about Petunia?"

"I've sent letters..."

"Lily, that's not enough."

Her sister purses her lips at this. "I've tried getting through to her _so_ many times. She doesn't want it. She doesn't...want anything to do with me now, and I can hardly blame her."

"This is about more than just the two of you," Poppy argues, laying her head back down on the pillow. She stares up at her older sister, indignantly. "I'm not losing any more of my family anytime soon. If she won't listen to you, she'll have to hear it from me."

Lily smiles a very muted smile. She looks so tired, and Poppy can't find it in herself to argue with her any longer. Not when she looks as terrified as she feels. "Get some rest, Poppy."

"You'll stay? In case of... the nightmares?"

"I'll stay."

* * *

Poppy wakes for the second time feeling loads more refreshed. This time, she can't remember her dreams at all, which is a welcome surprise. Lily's gone, of course - probably left once Poppy began snoring - and there's already noise coming from downstairs. Breakfast, then. However, the puffiness from the nearly endless tears of the previous day has not yet gone, so she decides to opt for a shower first. Rather sneakily, she peers through a crack in the door to make sure there are no strays still hanging about. Sensing no one, she goes door-to-door all along the second floor to find a bathroom.

Lily won't mind if she borrows her clothes, right?

She ends up snatching a blouse and jeans from one of the drawers in the empty master bedroom before eventually reaching her destination. All of the furniture is surprisingly? Normal? She'd not really noticed before, what with all the traumatic revelations, but there is nothing _distinctly_ wizard about this home. Though, she supposes she wouldn't necessarily be able to tell the differences anyway, would she?

Poppy showers quickly, before anyone can tell the water's running hopefully. Lily's clothes end up fitting a bit loose, which strikes her as funny because they've always been around the same size. If she tucks in the blouse it's a little less noticeable, and so that's how she floats down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She's greeted by Lily glancing up from her morning tea and immediately asking, "Is that my shirt?"

"I didn't exactly have time to pack my own," responds her sister dryly.

"No, it's fine, just - " Lily pauses, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It's fine. We'll get you your own things sometime today."

"...My own things? Why can't I go home and grab my already existing things?"

"I guess you could, but I'd like to take you shopping. It'd be a good way to get you out and about a bit. Don't want you getting stir crazy, hm?"

"It's been a day, Lily," she reminds her, pouring herself a cup of tea and glancing around. "Is James out?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. He's - Er, working."

" _Working_? What's he do?" Poppy inquires curiously, and now that she really thinks about it... "In fact, what do _you_ do? I've never asked?"

Lily smiles at that. "I work part-time at a magical hospital. Mostly nights. It's a temporary arrangement, really for experience. James... Hmm. The wizard equivalent of police, I suppose?"

"Oh, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. That makes sense in a strange way."

"You were working a flower shop? I remember you mentioned it in your letters."

"Ah...yeah, before," Poppy sits at the table and wraps her fingers around her teacup. A pained expression crosses the youngest sister's face, "Lily, am I ever going to be able to go back to the way things were? I'm not going to be... hiding forever, right?"

Lily's answering silence speaks volumes.

 _I don't know._

* * *

 ** _AN;_**

* * *

 _Buckle up, kids, we're going on an all inclusive feels trip to hell next chapter  
_

 _(Also many thanks for reading and even sharing some of your speculations + thoughts. I'm lowkey glad Poppy wasn't immediately scorned for being an OC? I was kind of worried initially! Hopefully ya girl Pop doesn't disappoint as we move along. Thanks again~)  
_


	4. had i known how to save a life

_Disclaimer: oh god oh god oh god oh god oh g_

* * *

 **chapter 3**

 _theme:_

 _[ how to save a life._

 _nilu ]_

* * *

It's a dark night, and that's how it's painfully obvious that something terrible is going to happen. Nothing pleasant ever happens on dark and stormy nights. Lightning passes over Cokeworth ominously, and Poppy watches it pierce the sky from her bedroom window unhappily. Her father's been complaining about the lousy telly signal all day. Her mother's been stress-baking since the early morning.

Odette clicks her tongue from the other end of the phone. "Are you listening to me?"

"I am. But this storm is going to drive me mad," replies Poppy, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind an ear. Frustrated, she shuts her curtains firmly, and puts her hand to the phone she'd been keeping to her ear by bending her neck, "I can't get any work done like this."

"Then don't work, and listen to me," Odette insists, causing Poppy to chuckle and make a noise in the back of her throat, a clear enough indication for her friend to continue. "Penelope and Harold aren't actually even seeing each other anymore, so it wouldn't be so bad if - _Poppy_?" The line goes dead, and the lights flicker a few times before shutting firmly off.

That noise.

Like breaking glass.

Downstairs.

Mum and Dad.

All the blood within Poppy freezes, and before giving it some proper thought she bolts to the stairs. "Mum? Dad? Is everything okay?" She calls, her voice coming out as little more than a pathetic whimper. " _Mum_? _Dad_?!"

It's hard to see much of anything during a blackout, so Poppy grasps at the walls, trying to make her way to the kitchen where she suspects the glass broke. "This isn't a funny joke, Dad! I know you like horror films, but _honestly_..." She pushes open the door to the kitchen and even in the dark, she catches someone's eye. A tall, dark shadowy figure she is sure is not her father, and certainly not her mother.

Poppy only has time to scream before a flash of light hits her square in the chest; the pain of it easily excruciating enough to knock her off of her feet with a pitiful whimper. Tears stream down her face as footsteps draw near. It feels as though she landed on broken glass...the window?

 _Where are her parents?_

"Stay away from me," she cries, her insides burning. " _Stay away_!"

As the figure falls to their knees, she catches a brief and blurry glimpse of their face amidst the infrequent lightning strikes - her bleary eyes widen in horror for a moment before her assailant whispers, " _obliviate_."

And so, when she wakes in a hospital with nurses telling her that her parents have perished in a terrible car accident, Poppy believes them. And when they tell her she's very lucky to be alive, she doesn't know just how right they are.

* * *

 _"Her memories were wiped, I'm afraid. We have no way of identifying the attackers, aside from the Dark Mark appearing above the house."_

" _Keep it that way."_

 _"... She's waking up..."_

 _"We'll modify what's left of that night in her mind as best we can for the time being. Let us hope it's enough."_

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _...I had to?_

 _To clarify, these are Poppy's memories that were completely obliterated by the mysterious deatheater that was behind the attack of the Evans family. (And later, presumably, the person in charge of her recovery.) This is kiiiiiiind of important, so it's necessary even though it's just a tiny chap which is why I did double-updates today! (While it's important for those *reading* to know what happened that night, probably keep in mind that Poppy has no idea and whoever it is that she saw is completely out of her mind at least for the moment.)_


	5. sister of mine, you should rest sometime

_Disclaimer: sisters being sisters u_ _kno_

* * *

 **chapter 4**

 _theme:_

 _[ fever (sister of mine.)_

 _tallhart ]_

* * *

It feels like a distant bad dream every time someone mentions the attack of her parents. Sometimes James will say something about it, momentarily forgetting himself, and Lily will glower at him in her menacing way until he shuts up. Sometimes it's Sirius. Sometimes Poppy brings it up herself, numb and detached, just trying to make sense of it all.

She suspects it will never fully make sense, or feel entirely real. So, a bad dream it stays.

It's fine. She's fine. It will _be_ fine. _She_ will be fine. Right now, it certainly doesn't feel like it, but maybe if she keeps telling herself it will be so, every morning, something will change.

It hasn't yet... But maybe someday.

Lily hasn't mentioned the so-called 'long-term' plans since that night, so Poppy assumes it's still being discussed. _Without her._ Which is fine, really, because just thinking about sorting living arrangements among strangers kind of gives her a headache. Going home is still the ideal outcome, but she knows with the way her sister is keeping vigil over her like a hawk, that isn't very likely to be an option.

Wizards and witches alike filter through the Potter's home throughout the week, none of them seeming too concerned with Poppy's presence. A few greet her cheerfully, while others eye her with a sort of disinterest that's hard to put into words without offending herself. She doesn't bother remembering their names. They don't seem to care either way. It's fine.

Remus shows up often, sometimes with a pudgy blonde wizard in tow. Poppy learns his name is Peter and he even brings her a collection of 'wizard cards' - the ones he has doubles of, at least - for her to keep herself occupied, she supposes. She's not really a collector (of anything) but the thought behind it is almost inexplicably kind. He's particularly proud to present her with a somewhat rare _'Lady Carmilla Sanguina'_ who was apparently some sort of vampiric seductress.

Poppy really could've gone the rest of her life not knowing vampires _actually_ exist, but there it is.

Other times, Remus usually brings some sort of fancy magic fudge that tastes nearly identical to the kind you can get at the market, however it hardly stops Poppy from devouring nearly the entirety of it, before guiltily offering the rest to him in contrition. He never refuses the offer, even after she's gotten her grubby hands all over it, much to her amusement.

On one such night, with Peter helping her sort her cards into some kind of collector's book, and Remus and Sirius picking at the little remains of the coveted fudge, Lily bursts into the room looking flushed in the face.

Poppy peers up, curiously, laying down a card with a mysteriously 'missing' wizard. The fact that they can do that still gets on her nerves a little. Why could nothing stay put? Why was nothing simple? "Are you alright? You look sick."

"I'm..." Lily visibly swallows. "...Fine?"

"You don't sound so sure," Poppy mutters, getting to her feet and reaching to feel her sister's forehead. Not overly warm. "It doesn't feel like a fever, at least. Have you eaten anything today?"

"Toast and jam. This morning. I...My stomach's been in knots most of the day, that's all. Nerves, probably."

"Sit," Poppy demands, "I'll grab you some tea and biscuits."

"I don't think I can keep even that down," Lily argues meekly.

Remus and Sirius share a look.

"St. Mungos?" suggests Peter helpfully.

"I'm _not_ going to the hospital."

"I'll - er - _contact_ James," Sirius says, making his way through to the kitchen.

Lily makes a noise in the back of her throat, clearly an objection. "This _isn't_ \- ! James doesn't need this distraction."

"Distraction?" Remus laughs, though the concern is still evident in his stiff posture. "You're his life, you know that, don't you?"

"Exactly," she breathes, looking close to tears. Poppy glances at Remus, uncertain of what to do. "We can't - There's no time. It's never going to be _safe_ enough. He's going to be so - "

"Lily," Poppy says gently, kneeling on the sofa to look her sister in the eye. Emerald eyes glistening with tears tensely gaze back, appearing positively devastated. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"... _No_ ," her sister cries, tears streaming down her face freely now. "No. I'm not sick. It's...It's worse. James is going to be _so_ \- "

"I'm going to be what?" chimes the concerned voice of her husband, as he steps out of the chimney.

Poppy hadn't even heard the flames signaling entry.

As Lily begins to cry harder, he is at her side in an instant. "What is it? What's wrong?" He wipes gingerly at her eyes before upping her cheeks with his palms. His eyes scan over her face multiple times, clearly checking for injuries of some sort. "Lily, what is it? _Please_."

"James," she sobs, prying his gentle hands away from her face, eyes terrified. "I'm pregnant."

* * *

Things change after that.

They have to.

James takes an indefinite hiatus from work - which isn't a huge deal, after all, considering the large sum of so-called 'magic money' he inherited from his parents. Lily tries to talk him out of it at first, not wanting him to lose such an integral part of himself _just for her,_ but he quickly warms her to the idea by placing a palm on her abdomen and staring down at her with a watery gaze. He murmurs something to her, something so private and intimate that Poppy feels a bit nauseated herself at the mere sight of it.

They are so in love that she doesn't see how a baby could possibly be a _bad_ idea. Still, everyone around is acting like it's an omen in the form of a tiny human, so Poppy is almost afraid to openly admit that she's kind of excited. She's never had much experience being around children as the youngest of a rather small family, not to mention all of her cousins were older than her as well... If she's spent her recent nights scouring books and magazines for baby names, she'll never tell...

Though, Lily catches her eventually because _of course_ she does. "Bit of light reading, then?" She asks sarcastically, though the smile on her face is genuine. She plops herself down right next to her little sister and peers at the pages of the magazine.

Feeling defensive, Poppy shuts the pages immediately. "Just...you know. In case."

Lily pries at her hands to open the pages once more, the smile on her face a little brighter. "Well, let's hear it, then? What are your suggestions?"

"...I don't know... I don't really know how magical people name their kids?"

"Not so differently from muggle children, I'd imagine. Besides, this child _will_ be half-muggle, sort of anyway."

"Well..." Poppy tilts her head, thoughtfully. "I like Cass for a girl?"

"Not a flower," teases Lily. "So eager to break tradition."

"It was just a suggestion!"

At this, her sister softens. "Cass _is_ pretty," she admits, taking the book and beginning to flip through whilst scanning the pages reflectively. She stops on one, seemingly fixated. Poppy peeks over her shoulder, curious. "... I was thinking," Lily says slowly. "To name them after Mum or Dad. If... If that's okay with you. James said he was okay with it already."

Sensing this has been bothering her sister for some time, Poppy nods slowly. "Why would it not be okay with me?"

"Because _you_ might have children someday," says Lily, as if it should be obvious.

"Not anytime _soon_!"

"I didn't say you would! It was just a thought! So...are you okay with it?"

" _Yes_ , obviously." She pushes at her older sister's shoulder playfully. "So... Do you think it's a little Harry or a little Rose?"

Shaking her locks of fiery hair, Lily smiles the widest Poppy has seen in days. "You know what? I don't think I care."

"I'd want a girl if it were me, I think."

"Of course you would. I think you'll change your mind if you ever get pregnant," says Lily firmly. "It changes your way of thinking. I used to feel the same, but now I just want for them to be healthy and happy... and _safe_ ," she adds almost bitterly, her brightness dimming a shade or two. "God, Poppy. What if...this is a mistake? What if we can't raise them right with all... _this_?" She gestures wildly, a dark look in her normally bright eyes. "I'm not even sure how to take care of myself. _I'm only twenty_? James... James used to try and shove Exploding Snap cards down the toilets at school! What if my baby is _that_? I can't raise a mini-James! I'll be grey by _twenty four_!"

Poppy blinks at her sister's sudden panic. Uncertain of what exactly 'Exploding Snap' is, she ascertains it's nothing pleasant. "Try and remember this baby will be half yours, okay? _You're_ at least intelligent enough to not try and shove explosives down any toilets. I hope."

" _But_ \- !"

"You need to calm down. The baby isn't even here yet, Lily. And when they arrive, I know you'll love the little thing with every inch of your heart because you're Lily and that's what you do. You don't do anything by halves," Poppy says resolutely, without a shadow of a doubt in her mind. "Least of all love."

"I'm just _so scared_ , Pop," cries Lily, eyes shining with unshed tears. "This is _not_ the right time. We aren't ready... There are so many reasons why this shouldn't be happening, but we're _letting_ it. I hate that one day I'm going to have to look my child in the eyes and wonder if I've made a mistake. If I'm failing them already by letting them be born into this!"

Taking her sister's shaking hands in her own gently and setting aside the baby book, Poppy shakes her head firmly. "You won't. You won't wonder if you've made a mistake because you'll _know_ by then that you haven't. You might feel silly for the tears you're shedding over it right now, but I have my doubts that you could ever look at something made with so much love and see anything less than perfection. Honestly, Lily."

"Poppy - "

"Don't ' _Poppy_ ' me, Lily June! It's okay to be scared. You're making a _human_ , for goodness sake. That seems a normal reaction, even putting aside the creepy evil wizard shite, right? If you really don't want to do this, fine. But give yourself time to adjust first and think about it, hm? Also, maybe have a chat with your husband about all this, hm?"

"When did you get so grown up?" Lily lays her head on her little sister's shoulder, shutting her eyes contently. "You shouldn't have to be here calming me down. These damn pregnancy hormones..."

"You're, what, six weeks? You can't use that as an excuse for being a crybaby yet, love," Poppy laughs and for the first time in a while it feels genuinely chipper and the world feels a little less dark and foreboding.

Poppy is going to be an _aunt_ and even if everyone else is determined to be insufferable and moody about it, she'll be excited enough for them all!

* * *

 _Dear Petunia Dursley née Evans, (wow, that was strange to write!)_

 _Please, don't tear this letter up before even giving it a glance...!_

 _I'm writing because I know Lily won't, even if deep down I know she desperately wants to._

 _Congratulations on your marriage. I'm afraid my invite was lost in the mail? (kidding...kidding, please keep reading.) I know the last thing you probably want immediately post-honeymoon is to hear from either of us. I'm trying to be understanding of that, but there are things happening now that make absolutely no sense and there's just so much and... I'd really like to think my big sister is there to listen even if the truth is far from it._

 _(So do me a favor and if you throw this letter away, or burn it, or tear it to shreds? Just... don't write back to let me know. It'd give me some peace of mind to assume you care, even if you don't really.)_

 _Despite my dramatics, I promise you that I'm not writing in an attempt to guilt you into a bloody phone call or a letter or something. I know we're all far past that by this point. I just thought you deserved to know what's going on in the lives of your little sisters. Well... Not much is going on with me, honestly. I'm living with Lily right now because of certain circumstances. (No, I didn't fail out of school, thank you very much!) It's a little busy around here. People coming and going all the time. Some of the people that stop by are really nice, though, so I suppose it's not too discomforting._

 _And now to the really big stuff. The reason I'm writing, mostly, I think..._

 _Lily's having a baby._

 _If you're still reading at this point, you're probably either rolling your eyes or seething... Or maybe you feel the kind of mushy happiness that I do at the idea of a little Lily running about? Probably not. Still, I thought you should know._

 _I hope your honeymoon went well. And... good luck on your marriage and all that._

 _L̶o̶v̶e̶,_

 _Best wishes,_

 _Poppy Evans (still just Evans - the last Evans daughter standing, if you will)_

* * *

 _Poppy Evans,_

 _Your handwriting is still atrocious._

 _I am with child, as well, due sometime in late June. You may tell the freak if you wish._

 _Don't let her expect that I'll be babysitting the little brat, because I won't. This changes nothing._

 _Signed,_

 _Petunia Dursley_

* * *

 _Dearest Petunia Dursley_ _née Evans,_

 _I didn't expect a letter in return, much less one with so much substance! Three lines is truly the best you could do to let me know you're pregnant? I wrote you a novel's worth, honestly, Tuney. Still, I suppose I should be grateful that you wrote at all._

 _Also, I'm the only one of us not currently pregnant!? That's? BARKING MAD?_

 _While I feel personally victimized in my exclusion from this baby-having party, I honestly don't particularly want a child right now. Or a husband, for that matter... From what I've seen of Lily and James they are rather the same thing, in any case, and I'm content as is. For the most part._

 _I could get a cat?_

 _Your persistent-est and littlest sister,_

 _Poppy (not pregnant) Evans_

* * *

 _Poppy Evans,_

 _Lily is allergic to cats, you twit..._

 _On second thought, I'll suggest you a breeder._

 _Signed,_

 _Petunia Dursley_

The letter has uncertain lines scrawled between the letters, like Petunia had been considering not making the quip at all and doing away with it altogether. Poppy smiles and keeps the letter tucked safely between the pages of an old journal with the ones she saved from Lily when she was away at school. Things are going to be okay, she just has a feeling.

* * *

 ** _AN;_**

* * *

 _Let's pretend pregnancy hormones are making Petunia sentimental enough to *actually* interact w/ her sister she hates the least. It's a start? I made up the Evans parents' names cos I couldn't find their actual ones anywhere. Lily's middle name is made up, too, since all we know is that it starts with a J. smh. I'd imagine the flower-naming theme was tradition, so we're going w/ it for now._

 _If you're interested here's what I headcanon the Evans girls' full names being:_

 _Petunia April Evans_

 _Lily June Evans_

 _Poppy May Evans_

 _Ik the order of months doesn't make sense w/ the order they were born in but give me a break. Poppy May sounds better than Poppy July, imo._

 _Thank you for putting up with my rambling_ (づ￣ ³￣)づ


	6. that's the last i'll compromise

_Disclaimer: it finally happened she said fuck and this is your warning_

* * *

 **chapter 5**

 _theme:_

 _[ can't go home._

 _good old war ]_

* * *

 _"—She's staying here!"_

 _"Lily…"_

 _"Don't 'Lily' me, James Potter! She's my sister!"_

 _"You know that's exactly why she should be someplace else! Someplace safer!"_

 _"I need her here! I can't —"_

The voices of her sister and her husband are far too loud for this early in the morning. Or for _any_ time, really. Bleary eyed and grouchy, Poppy glowers at the clock sitting on the wall — 3 a.m. — Are they _actually_ serious? And all the way from the kitchen, too. It's a miracle the neighbors haven't phoned the police yet, but then again, she supposes the house is probably charmed or something to retain sound. Too bad the residents didn't feel so considerate to charm each room to be soundproof… Irate, Poppy slides out of bed and winces at the coolness of the floor on her bare feet.

The voices stop momentarily as she creaks the door to the spare bedroom open and she freezes. Well, good? Did they finally realize they were being obnoxious? A few seconds pass before they resume their little verbal sparring match, and Poppy sighs to herself grumpily. Of course not… Feeling a pang of guilt reach her stomach. It's her fault that they're fighting, after all, perhaps she shouldn't be so harsh…but…

"— _attack?"_

" _She doesn't remember!"_

Jolted rather uncomfortably out of her own melancholic musings, she hangs by the stairs and listens pensively as the voices float upward.

" _But they do! That's the point, Lily —! "_

" _I'm not abandoning her with strangers, James! That's not what family does!"_

" _They wouldn't be strangers, they're in the Order — "_

" _They'd be strangers to her!"_

Order? Strangers? Sensing a mild headache coming on, Poppy leans against the wall with her head in her hands. It's plainly obvious they're arguing about what to do with her. Lily's reticence to sending her off doesn't come as much of a surprise. She'd been adamant from the start that Poppy stay within line of sight, which is partially why she hasn't left the house in what feels like weeks besides one little shopping trip with her sister. Why do they have to fight about this now? Why in the offensively early morning when Poppy is tired and at her most emotionally vulnerable….? Honestly.

Finally deciding she's heard enough, Poppy trots back to bed with a heavy heart. She tries to drown out the noise of their fighting by humming herself to sleep with a lullaby her mother used to sing to her.

… _We shall be safe, dilly, dilly_

 _Out of harms way._

It doesn't feel like it, as her eyes drift closed, but it does the trick.

* * *

Poppy wakes again in the morning, unsurprisingly, feeling poorly rested and irritable. She showers and completes her morning routine with the sort of autonomy of an emotionless husk, and ignores the hollow greeting that James offers her as she passes him on her way to the bathroom. Once she's dressed, she decides begrudgingly that its rather time to face the elephant in the room, despite her own misgivings. Lily's resting in the parlor with a book in hand when Poppy seeks her out with a determined expression.

Upon seeing her sister, Lily quirks a brow and gently puts aside her reading. "Is everything alright?"

"No. Everything is _not_ alright."

Looking vaguely alarmed, Lily sits up. "What is it? Are you hurt? Sick? — "

"What were you two fighting over last night?" Poppy presses, crossing her arms. At this, Lily sighs and her little sister knows this is a conversation that neither of them are particularly eager for… "It was me, wasn't it? He doesn't want me here."

"That's not it, Poppy," soothes her sister, always the diplomat. "He…James just thinks its unsafe for you to stay here, for everyone involved. He took what one of the members of our… organization… said to heart a bit too seriously. Now he won't let it go, no matter how many times I tell him that he's being _absurd._ "

" _Is_ he being absurd?" Her sister cries out, the upset she'd felt last night suddenly magnified ten-fold. "I don't want to put any of you in danger! Especially not with the little one on the way! But I can't do anything about it if nobody tells me anything, Lily!"

"Because this is not for you to worry about — "

"You keep _saying_ that, but apparently everyone else feels differently! Just tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

"You aren't supposed to do anything besides _stay safe_!"

"Stop saying things like that! It doesn't help, it doesn't make me feel better! If I'm putting you in danger by staying here, then just send me back home!"

"I can't!"

"And _why not?_!"

" _Because they'll come after you again!_ "

Lily's pretty eyes bulge, as though she's revealed something she hadn't intended.

Again?

They…?

Swallowing another scathing reply, instead, Poppy manages, "What do you mean ' _again_ '? ' _They_?'" At her sister's silence, she grows angry. Maybe unreasonably so, but there it is. "Lily! No more secrets, you promised! You _promised_ me that!"

Tears begin streaming down her elder sister's face as she covers her face with her arms, furiously wiping them away with the sleeves of her woolly sweater. "I…can't. I can't. If you know, you'll… I can't. I can't do this right now, Poppy… I'm sorry. _I'm so sorry._ "

" _You_ can't do this?" Seethes the littlest Evans, temper flaring. "Then point me in the direction of someone who can!"

"I can't — _I can't_!"

"What's going on in here?" James barges down the stairs, looking suspiciously at Poppy before hurrying to his wife's side. He wraps an arm around her, protectively, and it only pisses Poppy off more. No one gives a shit about her, not really. Not here, not anywhere anymore because the only people who loved her unconditionally are _gone_. "What's going on? What's all this noise about? What did you do?" He asks Poppy, noting her furious expression.

"Apparently everything I shouldn't have. I didn't know having questions was a crime now," she bites out, eyes burning. She grabs her coat from it's resting place on the hook and tugs it on while Lily cries out for her to 'stop'. "I'm going for a walk. I need to be alone."

"— Poppy, please," Lily tries.

"Lily, if you don't let me go, I'm going to _lose it,_ " warns her sister harshly. "Maybe your husband's right. It's best if we spend some time apart. Safer, even. I don't know what the _fuck_ is going on, but I know we've never fought so much in our entire lives, so _let me go_. Please."

And, with watery eyes and a small miracle, she does.

* * *

Poppy doesn't know how long she spends walking the area. She circles the small little village a few times, seething inwardly, before anger becomes frustration and frustration becomes a muted grief. Grief for her parents. Grief for Petunia, off living her life happily without either of them. And grief for her relationship with Lily that was nearly perfect before _this mess_ began. Eventually, after what feels like about an hour, she settles herself on a park bench and introspects on just what her life has become in the last few months. A mess.

As the guilt for causing her pregnant sister so much stress finally starts to sink in, an amused voice calls out to her, almost beckoningly. "Alright there?"

She glances up, dull green eyes decidedly puffy and red. She sniffles as the figure draws nearer, and she can recognize the man as one of the many wizards that flitted about Lily's house in the past few weeks. Poppy can't recall his name, but by the way he didn't acknowledge hers, he likely didn't either. "Do I look alright?" _Go away,_ she wants to say, but is it really better to sit alone with her quickly darkening thoughts?

" _Welllllllll_ ….no. But you're not supposed to say that to ladies, as far as I've been taught." He stops in front of her, an awkward smile on his somewhat handsome face. His nose is littered with freckles, and they scrunch up along with it as he adds not unkindly, "You're the muggle."

The muggle… It used to be that she was called 'Petunia's little sister' or 'Lily's second shadow' all the time back in the day… _Muggle_ hardly seemed a step up, but it amused her a little nonetheless.

Poppy snorts, wiping at her eyes tiredly. "That's me."

"Got a name?" Presses the oddly dressed man. Well. He's not dressed any more oddly than the rest of them, she supposes. His coat appears vaguely like the trench-coats some men from back home wear…Just with a bunch - possibly a needless amount of pockets.

"Poppy… _Evans_ , in case that wasn't clear."

"Ah. Thought so. Good to meet you, Poppy." The man offers politely, and he nods towards the empty seat on the bench questioningly. "Fancy a chat?"

She shrugs, not really caring either way. As he sits, she pulls her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater habitually. "I'm sorry. I know I saw you at the house at some point but I don't really remember your name."

"I don't suppose you'd get it right even if you did," he laughs, and she glances at him curiously. "Most people confuse me with my brother, you see, we're twins. Even my sister and she's known us our whole lives." The explanation is satisfactory, but still Poppy has a hard time believing that even their own sister could mix them up no matter the uncanny resemblance. "Gideon Prewett," he holds out his hand and she shakes it gingerly before letting go. "Problems at the homestead?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough… Suppose you know all about muggle things, then?"

"I guess?"

"You wanna tell me about those picture-boxes — my sister's husband has been bugging the lot of us about them recently. Saw one at work — he works with cursed artifacts, see, mostly muggle — and now he won't shut up about 'em. I have my doubts he actually knows what he's talking about at all so," Gideon shrugs, smiling pleasantly. "Might be nice to go back home with an expert's opinion."

Poppy blinks, dumbfounded. "Picture bo — You mean… the telly? Television?" Now that she's forced to think about it, Lily and James' house had been suspiciously devoid of many electronic things. No phone, no telly, no alarms as far as she can tell… Though, she supposes, what's the use in alarms when you have magic spells that can ward off burglars and the like? "There's not much to say, I think. They're electronic boxes that are able to broadcast shows from around the world. Sometimes live? The daily news mostly."

" _Electronic_ ," he echoes, fixating on that word specifically, and scrunching his nose again.

"Electricity, you know… Like…Lights and all that?"

"Hmmm," Gideon considers thoughtfully. "Think we use magic for that."

"Seriously?" Poppy sits back, staring in astonishment. "What about indoor-plumbing? Is that magic too?" The showers she'd taken since arriving at the Potter's home didn't feel much different than the ones back home, so she assumed not, but…

The odd wizard shrugs. "Dunno. Never paid much attention. Probably magic as well. We're very magically reliant, us wizards."

"I'm starting to see that."

"Wearing you a bit thin? The magic, I mean," he clarifies, looking curious. "I don't imagine it's been an easy transition."

"Kind of?" Poppy isn't sure how to respond. "It's more the secrecy of it all, if I'm being honest. I know I'm only allowed to know so much, but…It just feels like one big conspiracy and I'm at the middle of it without really understanding anything." Deciding this conversation is headed somewhere far too deep for comfort, she quickly adds. "Also the cards! Why do they not stay put? Where do they _go_?"

Gideon chuckles mirthfully, brown eyes twinkling. "At least you've got a sense of humor, that'll help." He pats her shoulder in some sort of show of solidarity before getting to his feet and stretching with a loud, almost comical yawn. "Suppose I'd best be off. Work to do, and whatnot." He gives her a look that tells her just what he thinks of aforementioned ' _work_ '. "I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other soon," he adds with a knowing glint in his eye that unnerves Poppy just a bit. More secrets.

"Will we?"

"If we're both lucky," he concedes with a wink. "So long, Poppy Evans."

She watches him go, an uncomfortable knot twisting in her gut at the thought of returning 'home'.

* * *

It turns out her brief encounter with Gideon wasn't some grand twist of fate, and it was a rather underwhelming attempt at an evaluation of her 'character' from an unbiased point of view. She passed whatever they'd been testing her for, it seems… At least, that's what she ascertains from Remus' vague explanation. He offers it sheepishly, possibly noting the unimpressed expression she wears. The house is, once more, bustling with company. Most of the witches present hover by Lily, asking after the baby. Marlene — from the wedding, Poppy recalls — coos excitedly over the little bump just starting to become visible. Poppy herself sticks by Remus and Sirius, despite not really wanting to encounter James, since they're the only ones she's really familiar with.

She eavesdrops a bit, given she has nothing better to do. Alice is evidently pregnant, too, and that's why she's been scarce as of late. Morning sickness has been keeping her in bed most of the day for the past few weeks or so. Frank is an anxious mess, blah, blah, blah. Though very happy for Alice and her growing family, Poppy eventually grows bored of wizard-esque gossip and drags her reluctant wizard companions with her to the slowly emptying kitchen for lunch. As she puts together a hastily concocted sandwich, the other two sit obediently at the table with carefully molded expressions upon their faces.

" _What_ ," Poppy asks turning on the pair of them, taking a large bite of her sandwich. Swallowing, and upon noting their silence, she adds. "Why are you looking at me like I'm about to wring you by the necks?"

"Because you're so pleasant all of the time?" Sirius snarks.

"I'm a delight." Poppy shoots back, mid-chew. If her mother saw her now, she'd get the lecturing of a lifetime. But she's not, and so Poppy chews crudely with her mouth open just to watch Sirius' nose twitch in disgust feeling a touch satisfied.

Remus looks between the two with an air of exasperation. "We're just wondering how you're feeling about it all."

"' _It all_ '?"

"Being tossed off to your new babysitters," chimes in Sirius, quirking a brow. "I bet a galleon that you'd deck James right between the eyes. Send his glasses flying, disfigure his nose a bit. Remus doesn't think you're that violent but I know better. You are related to Evans — er, _Lily_ , after all."

"What does _James_ have to do with this?" She'll neither confirm nor deny any alleged urges to hit her dear brother-in-law. Especially not to his closest friends.

"He's the one deciding where you're going to go. Dum —" Sirius catches himself before resuming. "The… erm, leader of our organization decided he was more equipped to think pragmatically than Lily in this case."

"Because she's pregnant?" Poppy asks skeptically.

"Because she's your sister," corrects Remus with a wan smile.

… Damn him and his often pityingly sickly appearance. She can't be pissed off at him… "And _where_ am I headed, then?"

Sirius smirks.

But she _can_ be pissed off at _him._ Easily. Gladly. Perpetually.

Poppy takes an angry bite out of her sandwich, glowering at the man, whilst he seems to consider his options. Finally, he splays his hands out on the table and taps his fingers rhythmically. "There were a few offers initially. Then some of them _met_ you and retracted them instantly — "

"They did _no_ t," Remus smacks Sirius upside the head, rolling his eyes.

"— _Ahem,_ " Sirius coughs, giving Remus a pointed look dripping with irritation. "Others were deemed inappropriate, etcetera, etcetera…"

" _Inappropriate_?" Such a distinctive, _suspicious_ word. "Why?"

"Because _those_ offers were from young gentlemen who live alone," Sirius' grin is lecherous and revolting. Poppy scowls. "Don't give me that look, Evans, you could've ended up squished between the Prewett twins in their tiny flat if your brother-in-law wasn't so concerned about your virtue!"

"I never want to hear you audibly refer to my so-called 'virtue' again, you absolute muppet."

Remus laughs heartily at Sirius' offended glare. However, the offended wizard in question is quick to brush the insult off. "Anyway, as I was saying… that left us with only a few. The Weasleys, obviously, were one of Prongs' prime picks but they ended up opting out because they're expecting what I can only assume is their fiftieth child."

" _Padfoot_!"

"What? They have a lot of little blighters, don't they? Now they're getting _another_ one, so there's no room for dear Evans."

"Can you get to the point?" Poppy inquires, annoyed. "Sometime this century, perhaps?"

"Ah." Sirius grins. "That leaves us with the only viable option left. Well, I mean there were a few others. The McKinnons, the Meadowes, but none stood out so brightly as the one with my personal commendation in the end, of course."

"And that would be…?"

"My dear cousin, of course! Well, _cousins,_ I suppose. She's got a kid now which is strange. Why's everyone got kids nowadays, Moony?"

Poppy doesn't hear Remus' response because she's far too busy inwardly panicking.

A relative of Sirius Black?

No.

 _No._

 _Maybe she will deck James in the nose._

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _And we've reached the part where I start bending canon like a silly straw!_

 _I forgot the Weasley twins' birthday was yesterday so I've tried to make up for it by abruptly shoving a Prewett twin in this little dumpster-fire. I'm sure it's blatantly apparent that this was not planned and I pulled it out of my ass but u kno what? no ragrets_


	7. there's no way in knowing where to go

_Disclaimer: Mild Snape-bashing but? This is from Lily's sister's p.o.v lol what did u expect_

* * *

 **chapter 6**

 _theme:_

 _[ be my escape._

 _relient k ]_

* * *

Poppy has only heard a handful of things concerning the few 'Houses' from Lily's fancy magic school. The first being when she was very young, and Lily had only just first gotten her letter. She'd studied the history books her teacher had bestowed upon her during the short, (and shockingly) informative visit. The severe-looking woman had even smiled a bit, seeing her sister's eagerness to learn. And that's how Poppy learned about Ravenclaw. Lily's ideal house; where the _really_ clever kids went, supposedly. She can vaguely call to mind even now, years later, the wide eyed gaze Lily had worn whilst reading the pages for her intrigued little sister. Petunia was already way over it by then.

The second House she could remember hearing about was Gryffindor — _Lily's House_. Her mother had read the first of the letters that Lily had sent because some of the words were just beyond her grasp, and Poppy remembers the time fondly, despite the dull ache in her chest calling out for her out of reach older sister. It didn't help that at the time Petunia was 'too old' and 'too cool' to look after Poppy, or do the things that Lily would've if she'd been able to stay. _The House of the brave._ She can recall the way her parents had both beamed in pride.

Hufflepuff. _The House of the loyal_ , or something. One day in late summer, in what must've been Lily's third year she'd told Poppy that this is the House she would be sorted into — if she were a witch, of course. Her little sister hadn't been so sure. Why wouldn't she have been a Gryffindor like Lily? Wasn't she brave? _She_ was the one who got into squabbles with other children in school to defend her very redheaded and very freckled sister, after all… She'd even almost knocked a girl off her feet for calling Tuney a giraffe once. But Lily had just smiled kindly and said ' _That's exactly why you'd belong in Hufflepuff_." And that was that. As far as hypotheticals go, Poppy found she rather didn't mind her imagined 'sorting'.

Slytherin.

Poppy had heard little of it growing up as a child, beyond her slight habit of eavesdropping on Lily and her friend 'Sev'. Severus would try his best to convince her sister that it was by far the best house to be in but Lily had her sights set on Ravenclaw firmly. In the end, his attempts were futile. They'd both sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin accordingly and the next Poppy heard of Severus was nothing pleasant, nor anything she'd be inclined to repeat. Her clearest memory of the sallow looking boy was having Lily hop off the train near the end of her fifth year and promptly burst into tears with his name in between sobs.

So, Poppy doesn't like Severus.

Having spent the entirety of the summer holidays that year trying to coax Lily out of her miserable mood, it should come as no surprise. Her sister was content to stew in her own despair, to feel like the loss of her best friend brought the end of the world along with it… It was mid-August by the time Lily had opened up enough to do anything fun, and even _that_ was just little afternoon trips to the library in frigid silence.

If she never sees the git ever again it will still be far too soon.

She _still_ doesn't know what he did exactly, to this day, but she'll have his head for it if he ever gets the gall to show his face.

Anyway — _Slytherin_.

Seeing as her only real experience with having met a Slytherin student was _Severus bloody Snape_ , it makes perfect and logical sense as to why Poppy is so reticent to the idea of Andromeda Tonks being essentially in charge of her well being and safety for any amount of time. Even if Sirius insists that ' _Andy_ ' is the ' _only good thing to come out of Slytherin_ ' until he's nearly blue in the face. As if she could completely trust anyone with the same blood running through their veins as Sirius Black… Ridiculous, just the idea!

But honestly.

Remus' assurances are a little more helpful. She doubts that the young man has a bad bone in his entire body. Still, even the kindest people can be swayed by the opinions of their friends and he's oddly supportive of nearly everything Sirius does which is mildly concerning. For someone so intelligent, he's a bit of a knob where it really counts. (At least in Poppy's _extremely humble_ opinion.)

She's not sure precisely _what_ to think of Andromeda Tonks, initially.

* * *

It's as she's stuffing her limited belongings into a small suitcase that a knock sounds at the door of her 'temporary' bedroom. Poppy pauses, eyes boring into the door. It's only James, Lily, and her around right now — and she doesn't particularly want to speak to either of them presently… Still as she folds a blouse, she calls out, "Come in."

"Are you decent?" The voice on the other side jokes easily. James.

"Am I ever?"

"Point," and the door opens, revealing her sheepish brother-in-law. He stands in her doorway looking altogether very long and awkward. He taps at the doorframe with his knuckles, something like nervousness flitting about his handsome face. Poppy ignores him steadily, instead focusing on getting her clothes sorted. If he has something to say, then he should say it… Almost as if reading her mind, he lets out a cough and she glances up with a mild expression. "So, I know things have been… off lately. I haven't been very fair to you."

At her silence, he continues stepping into the room hesitantly. "I owe you an apology, maybe a few, actually? Just…with the baby, and things worsening out there — I've been stressed. I shouldn't take it out on you, or assume that any of this is any easier for you than it is for me or any of us… I suppose what I'm trying to say is sorry?"

Poppy eyes him warily. "I'm not angry with you for taking Lily's side. She's your wife."

"I know. It's just — You've been in it alone, haven't you? Lily's got me, and I've got Lily and the lads, but _you_ …"

"Lily has _me_ and _I_ have Lily. It will always be true, no matter how long she's married," Poppy cuts in, a bit too tired to really be irritated. " _Yes_ , things have been difficult. _Yes_ , I've felt like the third-wheel incarnate recently." Her folding becomes quicker with every word out, frustration fueling her movement. " _Yes_ , Lily and her mood swings are driving me up the wall. And _yes_ , every time you lot do something secretive I want to put my bloody head through a wall… But that doesn't mean I don't still love Lily…and her _irritating_ family…"

At this, Potter chuckles, gesturing to himself mockingly. "Me?"

"You," affirms Poppy. "The brother I never asked for."

"What a coincidence then that you're the spitting image of the sister I never wanted?"

"Funny how that works. Anyway, if you'd paid even a sliver of attention to your darling wife, then you'd know that I'm the sister that everyone wants — I'm a _delight_." Just as he's about to retort in a manner she just knows is going to be insulting to her, she purses her lips at her stubbornly unzipped suitcase. She'd bought too many pairs of jeans on her splurge with Lily, she's certain. "Sit on my bag? Needs something heavy or it's never going to close…"

" _Heavy_?" Potter echoes, offended.

"The sooner I'm packed, the sooner I'm out of your hair?" _And off to live with a stranger_ , but she tries not to focus too intently on that.

"Well, when you put it like that."

They wind up spending about twenty minutes trying to get the damn thing shut. And that's how Lily finds them, wearing a distinctly bemused expression. She watches from the doorway, snickering, as they argue among themselves with James bouncing up and down comically on the case. Things aren't settled, not really, not yet — but it feels like the start of something akin to normalcy, which is the most Poppy supposes she can allow herself to hope for in the end.

* * *

 _It's not worth fighting over,_ Poppy decides, a _t least not at the moment._

Not when she's certain beyond doubt that she's not about to get the answers she's really after.

It's useless to hope otherwise.

And so, she'll let Lily try to soothe over the damage done with tea and biscuits and afternoon chats. She won't give her a firm look, or let her sharp tongue get the best of her. Neither of them could handle it and she doesn't want to stress her sister out even more with a baby on the way — her little niece or nephew. But soon… when things aren't so shaky, there's a talk (or several, she suspects) they'll need to have. For better or worse.

When Lily presses a kiss to her cheek as they part ways at the station — with James and Sirius wiping at their dry eyes, dramatically, and promptly causing a scene somewhere in the background— it doesn't feel like anything has broken between them irreparably.

It's enough.

(It has to be.)

* * *

"What are we looking for exactly?" As they hop off the train at their supposed stop, Sirius leads her in a distinct direction which is well enough because she has no idea where they are precisely. He ignores her question, his eyes flitting about almost nervously. "Um…? Hello? Are you listening?"

"— Hm?" He asks, finally meeting her gaze. The uneasiness about him is hard to miss. "Ah. You know. A port…key," he drawls, eyeing the people flooding the station presumably on their merry way home from work. Someone brushes past the pair of them murmuring a quick 'pardon' before Sirius finally asks, "Lily tell you about those?"

"She said we'd have to take one to get to the house," responds Poppy lightly. "But I still don't understand what they are."

"They can be _a lot_ of things which is sort of the problem."

"Are you trying to tell me that _you don't know_ what you're looking for?"

"I didn't…say that."

"You didn't _not_ say that!"

"Will you stop shouting?" He hisses, and Poppy can see that they've gathered a bit of a curious crowd observing their antics… Brilliant. She turns a bit, so the onlookers cannot see her bordering murderous expression. Sirius glares down at her, undeterred. "I may not know exactly what we're looking for — " he continues before she can interject, victorious. " — _but_ I know Ted's not careless enough to leave something so blatantly magical someplace flooded with muggles. He's a bit funny, but he's not an idiot."

"So, if it's not in the station, where _is_ it?"

"That…" He scratches at the uneven stubble gathering beneath his chin. "…is certainly a question."

" _Oh my god_."

She's not going to make it to the Tonks' house. She's going to end up dead, _or worse_ , stranded in the wilderness with Sirius Black for the rest of eternity. No. No. _Nope —_ Poppy would rather swallow glass. Pressing her palm to her forehead in frustration, she whines, "Why can't you people just live in normal neighborhoods?"

"Because the neighbors in those normal neighborhoods would run screaming at the first sign of anything even vaguely unnatural?"

"Point. It's still annoying."

"I didn't say it wasn't."

"So, what do we do," persists Poppy, unhappy with this turn of events. "There aren't… _people_ here you can ask?"

At this, Sirius grunts. "I don't think we're as distinct to recognize as you seem to believe."

Poppy rolls her eyes and just as she's about to begin another argument she catches a blur of pink out of the corner of her eyes. "Um, Sirius?"

"What — "

" _SIRIUHHHHHSSS_!"

Poppy watches, dumbfounded, as Sirius is nearly tackled to the ground by a little girl with bubblegum pink curls. He, on the other hand, seems less disturbed by this and more surprised. " _Dora_?" She giggles at his expression and he puts her back on her feet with a quick hug. Kneeling to eye-level, he asks, "I know you haven't gotten here by yourself, you little troublemaker. Did you run from your — "

"— Dear old father who is getting too old for this? Yes. Yes she did," comes a cheerful, yet exhausted reply. Poppy turns to see a young-ish man with blonde hair and a round belly. He offers her a sheepish grin before turning on his daughter sternly. "You promised when we left that you wouldn't run off, now, didn't you, Dora? I wouldn't have brought you along if I knew you were going to break that promise."

Dora pouts and ducks behind Sirius. "… I was jus' 'cited to see Siriussssss," she whines. "He never comes to visit anymore!"

"I've been busy," defends Sirius, looking truly offended. He glances up at Ted. "Work, y'know?"

"I know," Ted replies breezily. Poppy doesn't particularly like the knowing look they share. The chipper man turns to her with a somewhat lighter expression, then. "And you must be Poppy! Good to meet you," he offers his hand and Poppy takes it hesitantly. "Sorry about the abrupt change of plans — erm, there's been a bit of a situation?" At this, he sends an apologetic glance to Sirius.

"Situation?"

"Er, yeah. Happened quite suddenly. 'S why 'Dromeda isn't here."

"Is she okay? What — "

"She's fine!" Ted assures him. "Just a bit of an unexpected turn of events so we may have to take a bit of a detour, that's all."

"Detour?" Sirius narrows his eyes in a way that makes Poppy even feel even more uneasy. "To where? We can't parade her all about the bloody wizarding world! She's still a muggle — "

"I know, I know, just…" Ted grimaces, and as if sensing her father's discontent, Dora hops to his side and promptly squeezes his leg comfortingly. It works, and the man lets out a brief chuckle. "Dora, you want to introduce our new friend to Charlie, don't you?"

The little girl with bubblegum hair and a button nose peers at Poppy curiously. Feeling very much out of the loop, Poppy can only offer her a weak smile and wave. She ducks back behind her father but not before letting out a tiny giggle.

"The Weasleys?" hisses Sirius, clearly displeased.

"Detour," affirms Ted. "Not for more than a day. Promise."

"What is so important that Andy has to get done _now_ of all times?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy."

" _Of course_."

She's never seen Sirius look _this_ put off.

"Didn't you say the Weasleys opted out for personal reasons?" Poppy pipes in, a knot in her stomach. "Shouldn't… we not be bothering them?"

"It's only a day," Ted promises once more. He tries to smile at her encouragingly. "Besides, playdates with Dora always make things a bit easier on her on days Arthur works. She'll be thrilled to have you along for a while, I'm positive."

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _I needed an excuse for an obligatory Weasley baby chapter and it just so happens that whatever Andromeda's up to has given me the perfect one~_

 _The Lily+Poppy drama is not over or settled. At all. It's just on the backburner until Poppy can stop feeling guilty for making her pregnant sister cry every five minutes, probably. If you have sibs, you probably know the feeling of '_ god i'm pissed at you but we live together and it's just not worth screaming about consecutively for three days anymore _' so we'll get back to it when the time is right._

 _I also know way too much about Poppy currently (and future Poppy) but I'm curious where anyone else might sort her, knowing only what's been presented so far?_

 _To me, Hufflepuff was a no brainer but? I'm just (insanely) curious._

 _(Also where would you put Petunia bc I literally came up with nothing for her?)_


	8. until you set your old heart free

_Disclaimer: just some wholesome family friendly content (but actually tho)_

* * *

 **chapter 7**

 _theme:_

 _[ hello my old heart._

 _the oh hello's ]_

* * *

Molly Weasley is easily the most patient woman in the world. At least in Poppy's humble opinion. Five kids. One about to start school as he's nearly eleven. Two just barely out of toddlerhood. One on the way. A pair of twins — just barely into their 'terrible twos' and able to crawl about the house already… Definitely the most patient woman in the world, and maybe the most _bonkers?_ Poppy watches the woman fret over the state of the living room — apologizing _profusely_ for the mess of toys strewn about the floor haphazardly. As she ushers Poppy, Ted, and little Dora into the house she mentions offhandedly that her husband is at work and she's _so_ glad for their company.

Poppy has to mind her steps carefully to avoid tripping on train sets and building blocks alike. Dora, however, seems rather accustom to the state of the Weasley residence, and tentatively grips the end of Poppy's blouse and guides her through the 'safest route'. The little girl had been reluctant to let Sirius out of her sight at the station, but with a little prodding from her father — ' _but you'll see Charlie_!' — she'd let him go with a grim look on her tiny face. He promised to visit soon before rushing off to catch a train and she'd watched him go with an expression that seemed far too skeptical for a seven year old girl.

They'd taken a port-key to the _Burrow,_ as Ted had dubbed it casually. The experience was altogether less harrowing than apparating at least, and that's all she'll say about the matter — she doesn't want to think about the implications that come with the idea that any ordinary object could be a method of transportation for wizards. That's just… Well, it shouldn't even surprise her at this point. Nor does she pay any mind to the structural integrity of the _Burrow_ because no matter how she spins it, it makes absolutely no fucking sense even with all magic inclinations considered. Wizards. Can nothing be simple? Is nothing _sacred_?

"Charlie!" Molly shouts, eyes following the hastily moving toddlers at her feet; the twins. One of them paws at her leg until she gives in and picks him up and sits him on the brunt of her noticeably pregnant belly. He giggles cutely as his mother belts out, "Nymphadora is here!"

 _Nymphadora_?

Dora makes a face up at her, and Poppy suspects it's a sore subject entirely. The poor thing…

When a boy with a headful of fluffy red curls appears at the end of the staircase, her expression brightens fairly quick, however. "Wotcher, Charlie!"

The boy glances suspiciously at Poppy before returning Nymphadora's grin in full. " _'Lo_ , Dora."

Noting his glance shifting back nervously to Poppy, Dora sighs dramatically. "This is my friend, Poppy! She's going to be living with my Mum and Dad and me from now on."

"Why?" Charlie asks, looking bewildered.

"Charlie!" Molly chastises, rocking the toddler in her arms slightly as he becomes agitated. "Don't be _rude_."

"It's fine," assures Poppy, and she smiles slightly. "It's only temporary, like… an exchange program of sorts. Do you know what an exchange program is?"

Charlie nods solemnly.

"Good. You're very smart, your parents must be very proud!"

"—She's a _muggle_ ~" Nymphadora adds, clearly smug. Her pink hair seems more vibrant than it had back at the station, or are Poppy's eyes playing tricks on her now? Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake? Madness. "Like my Nan and Pa? Right, Dad?"

"Right," confirms Ted, a pleasant smile on his face. "Alright kiddos, what say you we head to the yard for a bit of Quidditch?"

Molly nearly goes purple in the face. " _Land Quidditch_ , right, Ted? No flying! Not even Bill is allowed on his own! _Charlie_ — !" Her nagging is lost on the trio as they venture deeper into the house presumably to reach the backyard, all snickering, and Molly exhales as soon as they're out of earshot. "Honestly. You would think that man is a child himself! I don't envy Andromeda, I tell you…" The twin in her arms laughs seemingly at her expense which makes Poppy laugh a bit too. "I suppose it's about time to put these ones down for a nap. Do you mind, dear?"

Following the woman's gaze to that of the other twin still crawling, though a bit more lethargically now, Poppy feels hesitant. "I've never held a baby before."

"Oh, dear. They aren't babies — these ones? They're little monsters." Molly laughs tiredly. "They're far less fragile than infants and he looks tuckered out so I doubt he'll give you much trouble, will you, Fred?" She asks sternly and the boy still on the carpet coos cutely up at her in response.

Still unsure, Poppy lifts the child into her arms and he fixes his sleepy gaze on her. "Hello then, Fred," she says gently, and Molly smiles sweetly at her. She tells her that ' _she's a natural'_ — but Poppy hardly feels like it. She follows Molly up the stairs and down a narrow hall to what she assumes is the nursery. It's an easy task, after all, as the twins are indeed tired and don't budge from their cribs once they've been put down to rest.

"— Mum?" A quiet voice comes from the door once it's done.

Molly turns, a stricken expression on her face. "Oh…Percy, dear. Is everything alright?"

Poppy regards the small child — he couldn't be more than four or five, but already he's dressed like a tiny adult. Smart sweater vest, and there are glasses perched on the bridge of his little nose. Adorable. Her heart almost can't take it. He glances uneasily at Poppy before addressing his mother again. "I was reading a book but there's a word I don't know…"

"Let's see it, then," Molly says keeping her voice quiet not wanting to wake the sleeping twins. "But let's move to the kitchen first, hm? Come along, Poppy, dear. I'll fix you up something to eat as well. You must be hungry."

"I'm alright," says Poppy, though her empty stomach rather disagrees, she doesn't want to be trouble. As they slowly make their way back to the living area, and eventually the kitchen it's apparent that Percy seems to have grown rather agitated at the turn of conversation and so she calmly kneels to his level. "May I see your book?"

He squints at her behind his glasses. "Can you…read?"

Poppy bites her lip to keep from laughing as Molly once again goes red in the face. "I'm adept, or so I've been told." With this admission, he offers the opened page to her reluctantly and taps his foot against the floor in impatience. She scans the page — some sort of wizard version of a fairytale as far as she can tell, and she mouths the entire passage aloud until the child is satisfied.

"Thank you," he says politely yet curt, and then he's gone.

Poppy blinks at the recently vacated space.

"He's clever for his age," Molly explains, already beginning to fix something up despite Poppy's meek protests. "A bit _too_ clever. Four and already reading books on his own! He doesn't like to be disturbed when he reads either, my little old man. I fully expect once his Hogwarts letter comes 'round, it'll only get more intense." As she busies herself putting something together quickly, something seems to dawn on her. "Oh, how is Lily, by the way? I'm sorry, I've been so scatterbrained lately. I'd like to blame the pregnancy," Molly gestures to her swelling tummy. "But I think I've got five excuses at this point…"

"I doubt Lily would hold it against you," laughs Poppy. "But she's fine. I think they've got an appointment with a… _healer_ scheduled at some point this week? I'm not really sure what it's for. She's barely showing, probably just to make sure the process is moving along smoothly?"

"Oh, good, good," Molly nods, her frizzy curls moving along with her. "Yes, I suspect it's just a quick check up to make sure things are going fine."

Yes, Poppy supposes the Weasley matriarch _would_ be an expert. "I'm kind of nervous about it all which is silly because I'm not the one having a baby but…" Her mind immediately darts to Petunia, much to her chagrin. The little niece or nephew she probably _won't_ get to know very well. If she wants to at all, she'll probably have to hunt her sister down and surprise her with a visit one of these days, if she's ever allowed on her own that is.

"Oh, sweetheart," the woman drops everything just to offer her a comforting pat to the shoulder, almost a hug. The gesture is almost so starkly maternal that it renders Poppy stock still. "It's perfectly normal to get nervous when there's a little one on the way, even if it's not _your_ little one. I know my brothers nearly lost their minds when I first had Bill! ' _You're too young_.' ' _You don't know how to look after a baby._ ' honestly, they're younger than I am! And I'd been married!"

Poppy smiles at that. "And now you're an expert," she teases.

"And _they_ adore every one of the boys with every last inch of their hearts," Molly affirms. "Even if they do purposefully gift them toys that will drive me up the wall. Did I tell you that Gideon gave Charlie a toy dragon for his birthday? Now he won't shut up about them! Says he's going to run off and become a dragon tamer someday. My little boy?" The mother huffs, indignantly. "I think _not_."

* * *

Lunch is a chaotic affair as it turns out.

Ted drags in Nymphadora and Charlie, both clearly reluctant to cease playtime but quickly cheer up at the sight of a table full of food. Molly ends up enlisting Ted this time around to wake the twins for feeding time, probably to chew him out for actually letting her son on a broom. Poppy ends up making plates for all of the children according to their tastes — Percy is the only one to say 'please' and 'thank you' and even if his tone is just slightly clipped, she still beams at him.

Bill shows up a little late, just as Molly has finished spoon-feeding the twins their mushy-but-at-least-familiar-looking baby food. A boy of about eight or nine, Poppy suspects at least, appears in the doorway with two figures at his side.

"Shoes off," Molly says automatically.

"Mum," whines the boy, but he does as he's told.

One of the figures behind him, and Poppy can identify them now as the Prewett twins, chuckles. "Yeah, _Mum_." Still, the pair of them follow suit and deposit their shoes by the welcome mat. Bill is quick to join everyone at the table and begins to dig in causing Molly to cough surreptitiously, and his blue eyes dart up almost instantly.

" _What'dI do wronf_?" He asks through a mouthful of food.

She tilts her head in Poppy's direction to her own absolute mortification.

"Oh," he swallows. "Hi."

"Hello," replies Poppy kindly, glad that he's content to settle back into eating immediately rather than strike up a conversation. Bless children, honestly.

"Hello, dear Pop," a voice says at her side, causing her to jump. She squints at the familiar splattering of freckles and baby blue eyes. Gideon? Whichever one it is, he takes the seat beside her and rather than digging in like his nephew he rests his arm at her back easily.

She purses her lips, unwilling to guess and get it wrong. "Hello," is all she offers.

His responding grin tells her everything she needs to know. He knows.

The other one takes his time making his rounds, stopping to kiss Molly on the forehead and messing with each of the boys' hair individually. Percy makes a face when it's his turn and quickly tries to neaten up his curls causing the twin in question to laugh heartily. "Hello," he offers her kindly before taking the seat beside his sister.

"You aren't going to introduce yourselves?" Molly asks, exasperated.

"We've already met," chimes the one closest to Poppy and she can almost immediately identify the lie.

"No," she says, certain this time. " _We_ haven't."

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly." Poppy squints. She doesn't have the sort of photographic memory to be able to tell if all the freckles are in place, but she does remember enough about her brief encounter with Gideon to know that the twins like messing with people. Namely, _Molly._ "I think if you were Gideon you wouldn't have sought me out so openly, unless you were anticipating that I'd look that far into it? But — there's _no way_ you had time to prepare that far ahead! You couldn't have known I'd be here today…" _or… they did?_

Molly drops her fork abruptly, a positively murderous look on her face. "This is enough. Don't upset my guest, you little prats."

"But Molly," one of them says, quirking a brow.

"— Can _you_ even hazard a guess?"

"No! _Not this_! Not today," exclaims their sister, and at her tone even her sons glance up from their meals. "You've done this to me every day since you were _able to talk_! I won't have it now! Do you want me to go into premature labor? That's what happens when you stress _a pregnant woman out!_ "

"Little Ronald has got to come out sometime," the twin nearest Poppy snickers.

The one closest to Molly sighs, resigned. He puts an arm around his sister's shoulders comfortingly. She glares at him. "Alright, Fab. I think they've had enough. We don't want Arthur to come home to find his wife has spontaneously combusted out another Weasley so soon, yeah?"

" _Gideon_ — !" His sister goes on murmuring something about being 'so crude!'.

But all Poppy can get out of this encounter is that she was _right_.

"I knew it," she says far more confidently than she'd felt mere moments ago. Ted laughs loudly at her smug expression, and the astonished expression that crosses the twin next to her — _Fabian's_ — face.

"You got lucky," corrects Fabian, once the shock has worn off.

" _No_ ," Poppy argues, pointing her fork at him threateningly. "I used logic to deduce that neither of you had time to prepare a spectacle, or to make assumptions on what assumptions _I_ would make. That means I was right in a _very_ fair way. Which also means I win and you lose?"

"That's how the game goes," Bill pipes in, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. Molly glowers at him until he corrects his behavior and picks up a napkin. "Don't be a sore loser, Uncle Fab." Charlie and Nymphadora titter their agreement.

"Yeah, Uncle Fab," Gideon snarks, but he's smiling pleasantly.

"I _can't believe_ I'm being attacked by my own blood."

Percy simply sighs — four years old and already so above it all.

He might be Poppy's favorite. Maybe.

* * *

Around sometime in the evening, Andromeda _floos_ the Weasleys ( _this fireplace is also a magical telephone arrangement is still beyond odd to Poppy_ ) to inform Ted that she's nearly concluded her mysterious business. That's all that Ted relays to Poppy, but she knows he was at the fireplace for nearly an hour worth of conversation so that can't be all, surely? Still, it feels rude to pry, and so she lets it go with a meek grin.

Eventually, Arthur Weasley comes home from a long day of work, only to find himself nearly covered head to toe in ginger children all looking for a hug. He chuckles pleasantly and accommodates them one by one whilst Molly breathes a sigh of relief at Poppy's side.

She wonders not for the first time how Molly manages an entire household by herself for a good portion of the day.

Poppy doesn't think _she_ could do it, that's for sure.

Arthur kisses his wife chastely before regarding Poppy herself. "Ah! The _muggle_!"

"Arthur," Molly reprimands, but the rosiness to her cheeks and smile that her husband seemed to have brought home with him doesn't lessen. It's really sweet, if not a little nauseating to someone so romantically adverse as Poppy. ( _By choice_!)

"Poppy Evans," she introduces herself, smiling good-naturedly.

"Arthur Weasley," he offers a hand and she takes it briefly. "Great to meet you. I don't suppose you have a minute to talk —"

"— About muggle inventions?" One of the Prewett twins finishes, appearing at Poppy's side suddenly. "Did I not _tell_ you? You should've run when you had the chance."

Gideon, then.

Or is that just what he _wants_ her to think?

She glares at him suspiciously.

" _Easy_. That joke is only funny about once a day, otherwise it's just overkill," 'Gideon' explains with a charming grin. He turns to Arthur with a quirked brow. "Already so eager to get back to work? You've only just gotten home, man."

"I'm just curious," Arthur presses. "It's amazing what muggles have been able to accomplish without magic! Simply fascinating — "

Molly rolls her eyes. "I think the twins are due for a change. Come on," she drags Arthur away by the arm, and Poppy ignores the flimsy excuse. Of course she'd want a moment alone with her husband after a long day of him being away.

Gideon watches them go, a strange look on his face before opting to gaze down at Poppy. "You never know with those two. Might be planning baby number seven as we speak," he whispers conspiratorially.

She snorts in a decidedly unladylike fashion. "You're ridiculous."

"Have you not spent the day in this house? Would you be shocked?" He inquires, feigning a deadly serious expression. "I reckon she won't be stopped until she's got a girl. Always been a bit sore that she was the only girl in our family, Molls has."

"I can't relate," Poppy says dryly. "I was the last of three girls."

"Your poor father."

"Our poor mother," she corrects, a fond smile appearing. "My dad was always perfectly content, even if he didn't always understand how to deal with us. Our mother on the other hand… I think she would've liked a son to balance out the screaming about borrowed clothes and allotted bathroom time."

Gideon lets out a low whistle. "No kidding. Can't imagine; feel kind of lucky it was just Fab, Molly and me."

"Yes. I imagine you were _no trouble_ at all."

"Your words, not mine."

" _Ridiculous_."

"I'm beginning to suspect you like it, otherwise why would you still be chatting me up?" He rubs at his chin, thoughtfully.

"I'm not _chatting you up_! I don't _chat_ anyone up."

He regards her skeptically. "If you say so, Poppy Evans."

"I _don't_ —!"

"Am I interrupting?" Ted appears, a cheeky grin on his face that says he's been listening longer than probably assumed. Poppy sighs exaggeratedly, whilst Gideon chuckles along with the blonde wizard. She's glad they're both amused… the prats. "I just got word from Andromeda. She's home finally. You about ready to go?"

Poppy blinks. "Um, right." She'd almost…kind of forgotten? Which seems ridiculous now that she has the capacity to think about it, but she'd gotten rather used to the chaotic Weasley household. "Yes. I just…" She thinks of the children she's grown a little fond of. "Can I say goodbye first?"

"Of course," Ted agrees. "I think Molly and Arthur are still taking care of the twins but Charlie and Bill are upstairs with Dora."

"Percy?"

It's Ted's turn to blink, surprised. "Er…"

"Probably off reading year seven level books somewhere, I suspect. Come on," Gideon gently prods her by the shoulder towards the staircase. "I'll join the lass on her grand ' _Farewell Tour_ '."

"You're obnoxious," Poppy says as they trail up the stairs, and she's glad her back is turned to him so he can't see her smile.

* * *

Charlie offers her a sheepish 'see ya', to which Nymphadora rolls her eyes dramatically.

Bill waves, friendly enough, but seems altogether more interested in the fact that his Uncle is hovering at her back. Probably making horrible faces over her shoulder, the git.

Perhaps, most surprising, is the fact that Percy is the one to hunt her down before she leaves. He appears with his hands clasped behind his back and a severe expression on his face. In so many words, he thanks her solemnly for her help with his book earlier. Gideon laughs at his seriousness, but Poppy merely smiles kindly and pats him on the head with a reminder that if he ever needs help again she's just a 'floo' call away. The words are foreign on her tongue but the way the boy beams at her in response makes her mild embarrassment worth it in the end.

Molly offers her perhaps the warmest hug she's ever received — bar the ones she'd used to get from her own mother, of course. "Come again, anytime," she insists, patting at Poppy's hair in a distinctly maternal manner. "Tell Lily she's welcome, too. Anytime."

"I will," Poppy nods. "Thank you for having me. You have a wonderful family." She hesitates, considering her next words carefully. "…Before today I was worried about becoming an aunt, you know? I've never really been around kids much, being the youngest, but… I think if Lily's child is half as wonderful as all of yours, everything will be fine. So thank you."

She didn't really intend to make Molly burst into tears, but well…

"Oh, you absolute _sweetheart_!"

"Alright, Molly, let's not suffocate the girl," Arthur mends, gently prying his wife off the girl in question. "It's been good to meet you," he offers. "Perhaps next time we'll find the time to discuss the telly-vision?"

Gideon gives her a knowing look that causes Poppy to promptly burst into laughter.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _notes brought to u directly from my plot-sheet:_

 _\- Poppy meeting the Weasleys? Young Bill + Charlie + TINY OLD MAN! Percy (her fav little nerd). toddler twins! (Bonus: Arthur losing his mind cos she's a MUGGLE!) (Molly would b pregnant w/ Ron?)_

 _clearly my thoughts are all very organized and i know exactly what i'm doing 100% of the time. this chapter is mostly me pushing my Percy-Weasley-is-Good agenda tho_

 _(Slytherin!Petunia makes a lot of sense actually! I was kind of reluctant to admit it bc she'd be muggleborn but u know what? U right. The girl hustled herself the most normal husband in the universe out of pure SPITE ur fav could never reach that level of petty honestly she's a snake queen, an icon for the ages.)_


	9. oh alien, you'll be just fine

_Disclaimer: gordon ramsay called just to tell me that my angst was fking raw, what an honor_

* * *

 _ **chapter 8**_

 _theme:_

 _[ alien._

 _thriving ivory]_

* * *

Andromeda Tonks is not nearly as intimidating in person as the foreboding image that Poppy's conjured up in her mind. It shouldn't come as a surprise, really, considering her choice in husband and the little ray of sunshine disguising as her daughter. Still, it's a relief when the woman fixes her with a tentative smile upon their arrival via port-key. The dizziness hasn't completely dissipated, but she can make out the kindness warming her dark eyes and even her mousy brown hair is familiar, as a feature Poppy has herself.

"It's nice to finally meet you," the woman says, offering a hand to help Poppy steady herself, which she gratefully accepts. "Your things arrived earlier and I've taken the liberty of having moved them to your room. Of course, I'll leave the unpacking to you, naturally."

"Thank you," Poppy responds, feeling truly grateful she wouldn't have to lug her suitcase through an unfamiliar setting. "That's…That's very nice of you," she adds, her head still spinning from the short and abrupt trip. She can hear Ted mumbling to Nymphadora just behind them. "In fact, this is very nice of you in general. To have me, I mean."

Andromeda's weary eyes soften. "It's not a problem… It seems taking in strays is becoming something of a habit," she adds, looking tiredly at her husband and child. "Let's get inside before it gets much later. It's about time for Nymphadora to get ready for bed as it is."

"But _Mum_ —!"

"I don't care if you aren't tired," Andromeda cuts in, and it seems this argument is a common one. "You've had an exciting day, I'm sure, and it's time to settle down." She looks to Poppy. "Surely, you wouldn't want to cause our exhausted guest undue stress? She must be tired?"

Feigning a yawn, Poppy plays the part of travel-weary guest near flawlessly. "So tired."

Nymphadora pouts whilst perched on father's shoulders but does not argue further.

The Tonks' home is not nearly as bizarre as the Weasley's had been. It, at least, retains some sense of architectural structure that makes logical sense. It's a bit bigger than the Potter's, much less traditional looking but familiar enough to ease the nerves gathering uselessly in the pit of Poppy's stomach. The front door leads seamlessly into a living area and this is where Nymphadora and Ted part ways, opting for a long hallway to the left.

"G'night, Poppy," Nymphadora offers sourly, clearly not pleased to be herded off to bed. Her head of bubblegum curls now falls limply, as if her dissatisfaction is manifesting itself in her appearance, but that's ridiculous, right? _Right_? Maybe Poppy _is_ a little tired after all.

"Goodnight," she replies, waving a little. "Sleep well."

"Thank you," comes the reluctant reply, prompted only by her mother's stern gaze, Poppy is certain. Ted offers a brief farewell before disappearing down the length of the hall. Andromeda thumbs at her nose, looking positively exhausted.

Biting her lip, feeling a tad awkward, she asks, "Long day?"

At this, the older woman smirks wryly. "You have no idea."

* * *

Poppy's _temporary_ room, as she's taken to calling it, is in the attic. Though, unexpectedly it doesn't draw as much of a draft as she would've thought — though she supposes that can be chalked up to magic nonsense. In this particular case, however, she's grateful for it. As promised, her things have been moved and left relatively untouched upon her arrival. There's a dresser against the wall that she supposes she can sort her clothes into but that feels… _permanen_ t. Too permanent for her liking.

So, she decides to live out of her suitcase for the time being. At least then she can pretend she'll be headed off to normal life sooner than later, even if it's untrue.

The room isn't completely devoid of life, at least not as much as she'd been anticipating when Andromeda mentioned it was in the attic. There are books scattered about the floor and loose parchments with notes scribbled all over them. It doesn't take long to gather them into a neat pile and rest them on the present desk. If they belong to Andromeda like she suspects they do, she'll probably be looking for them at some point, so better to take care of it now. They're practically illegible to Poppy — maybe they're written in a coded magic language? Probably?

The only actual (barely) recognizable letters on the pages — consistent on the lot of them — is the acronym; — _redacted_ — A.B. Messy inkblots obstruct a majority of it. Maybe it was intentional?

Poppy vaguely recalls Sirius mentioning Andromeda's maiden name was Black, since they were cousins, so it would make sense if it were some sort of pseudonym she uses for security purposes.

In any case, she sweeps them aside for future reference.

 _Snooping is bad_ , Poppy reminds herself firmly.

Andromeda left out fresh sheets for her to make her own bed which Poppy is oddly appreciative of. The routine of making a bed is strangely calming which is nice. In retrospect, it had been a ritual back home that used to get on her nerves… Funny, that. Once it's been done, she lays on her back and stares up at the ceiling contemplatively.

The foreignness that comes along with falling asleep somewhere new is there; this is _not_ her ceiling, or the ceiling back at Lily's, this is new and strange and Poppy suspects immediately that sleep will not find her easily tonight. Great, fantastic, _brilliant_.

She doesn't like that her mind near instantly decides it would like to wander to melancholic places but it hardly comes as much of a surprise. She worries about Lily... though she supposes she's better off than even Poppy is with her husband looking after her with an intense sort of vigilance. She worries about Petunia — _yes, Petunia_ — and her little growing family. (Reluctantly including Vernon, though he's never been anything but particularly nasty to Poppy since they've met. Still.)

Most of all, she worries about her parents even though logically she understands they're both long gone. She hasn't done enough for them, for herself. Finished school, yes, but what's she done for herself besides get caught up in a mess of things? A temporary job at a flower shop? One she'd had to abandon abruptly for her own safety?

Would her mother sweep her hair back and comfort her, or scorn her for being so helpless?

Evans are supposed to be _capable_. They're _supposed_ to endure. Lily has always been the picturesque vision of capability; passing all of her classes with flying colors, despite the odds of her being Muggleborn stacked against her… Even graduating having been Head Girl. Petunia had worked her way up in a dull office simply because being a receptionist wasn't to her tastes. What's Poppy done lately? _Besides be a burden_?

Being all alone in a tiny attic room doesn't feel much like anything _but_ enduring. But does it count if everyone else is doing the hard parts? _Why does she have to worry about this now_? Irritation flaring in the pits of her gut, Poppy turns on her side and presses her head to her pillow feeling quite grumpy.

Her mother had always said you shouldn't go to bed angry, yet Poppy can't help but drift to sleep feeling altogether furious with herself.

* * *

Waking is a slow process. Without Lily to literally drag her out of her own stupor, Poppy feels a bit sluggish. Her eyelids feel heavy, and the weight in her chest reminds her how useless she's been lately and she caves in on herself, miserable. As if the self pitying party couldn't get any worse, Poppy can feel a migraine coming on which she supposes has been a long time coming at this point.

 _You can't repress your emotions forever, idiot._

Even the sun is annoying as it peers through the small window perched above her bed.

 _Go away…_

Tugging the covers up, stubbornly trying to block out any source of light, Poppy feels decidedly childish. This helps…absolutely none. The burning sensation in her eyes is unfortunately familiar. God. No more crying, what's the point in it? What's the point in feeling sad about any of it when you can barely comprehend the truth? Because no one feels like sharing? Why does she feel at fault? Guilty?

 _Why won't it just go away?_

The tears come, in spite of her inward protesting. "Damn it…Why?"

* * *

Poppy doesn't end up leaving her room until mid-noon, which in retrospect, seems a bit rude but… Andromeda seems unsurprised, at least, and offers her a small smile in greeting. "Settle in alright?"

"Um," _no, not particularly_. "Yes." Though, aside from the _tiny existential crisis_ , she supposes it's been a grand old time.

As if seeing through her massive lie, Andromeda resumes her reading but offers tritely, "It'll be a bit of an adjustment. Give yourself some time, as much as you need."

 _Don't be so hard on yourself, Pop._

She really doesn't need her father's disembodied voice haunting her right now. In fact, of all the voices to be taunting her at this moment, his is at the very bottom of it easily.

"Sure," replies Poppy, her voice sounding off even to her own hears. "…Where are the others?"

Andromeda peers up from her novel once more, thinly shaped brows furrowing in thought. "Ted's gone to work; a muggle news-station just outside of London. Nymphadora is upstairs cleaning her room. Correctly, this time, I hope."

"Correctly?"

"In a manner that doesn't involve simply stuffing her toys under her bed and dirty clothes at the back of her closet."

At this, Poppy laughs roughly. "Sounds about right… I remember Mum would tell us when we were really little that she'd have an inspector check the room thoroughly. Scared us enough to at least get the dirty clothes to the hamper."

"Perhaps I should take note," Andromeda comments, dryly. "Though I suspect there's little I could say that would frighten my daughter into cleaning properly. Or doing anything I tell her to, as a matter of fact."

"That _als_ o, coincidentally enough, sounds about right."

"I don't remember being nearly so difficult as a child," the older woman says, putting her reading to the side. She pats at the seat on the sofa next to her and Poppy obediently takes it. "As an adolescent on the other hand…To my parents, I'm sure I was a nightmare."

"Something to look forward to, then," Poppy jokes.

"As long as she doesn't run off to elope like I did, I'll consider whatever comes a blessing."

"I've always thought eloping is kind of romantic. Your parents didn't, um, approve, I take it?"

She snorts. "That's an understatement. Disowned me completely. Blasted off the family tree and all. I was barely seventeen. I think Sirius saw it as a challenge and is still _to this day_ convinced he's beat me by losing his inheritance by sixteen. I think he's a prat, but at least he's an _honorable_ prat."

Poppy can't really name one of her normal friends that have been disowned. It just… doesn't happen. Or if it does, they've all been lucky enough to avoid it. And at _sixteen_ , nonetheless… At sixteen she'd still been gardening with her Mum on weekends and messing about with her friends between school on weekdays. She can't imagine… "Is that common with magical families?"

"The Pureblood ones, mostly." Andromeda gets a dark look in her eyes, then. "It's just a matter of luck. If you're unlucky enough to be born into it you either succumb to their ridiculous ideals, or you get disowned. That's all. I've made my choices and I won't regret them." She pats Poppy on the knee and gives her a tired sort of grin. "I'd say you're lucky to have avoided the scale entirely but you've just drawn the short stick from the other side completely. Still unlucky, I'd say."

"I'm starting to see it a little more each day," admits Poppy a bit sheepishly.

"Well, there are good people trying to put a stop to it," Andromeda says, tone level, but the look in her eyes is enough to tell Poppy that there's more to it than simply ' _good people are trying so_ …' "So try not to worry yourself overmuch, hm?"

"I'll try."

And try she will.

(It's never that easy.)

* * *

Poppy winds up spending most of the day lounging about with Andromeda, occasionally helping with something that needs doing. Together they prep for dinner and eventually Nymphadora makes her way down stairs to help after assuring her mother that, _yes_ , she's tidied her room properly. Andromeda appears particularly skeptical but allows it to slide as she helps the girl wash up for supper, and Poppy finishes setting the table. (The fact that they don't have — _or choose not to use_ — magic for this kind of stuff is strangely comforting, at least. It reminds her a little of home in its domesticity.)

Ted arrives home later in the evening, opting to fuss Dora's hair and to kiss Andromeda chastely before greeting Poppy. "Had an alright time of it, then? Sleep well?"

"Oh, yes," Poppy lies, feeling only marginally guilty.

Not much else is said during the meal. Nymphadora pipes in occasionally to chat about Hogwarts, though Andromeda is quick to remind her that she's still a ways off from it and should be focused on her _current_ studies. The girl, of course, is having none of it and assures her mother that she's already got her future school days mapped out. She reckons she'll be Gryffindor like Sirius and not a _sneaky Slytherin_ like dear old mum, which makes her mother go almost red in the face until Ted intervenes with a good-natured chuckle and well-timed quip at the ready.

It's nice. They're clearly a loving family in their own strangely charming way but… they're not _her_ family.

 _Lily was right._

Poppy's never going to be completely comfortable surrounded by strangers. At least, that's how it feels.

Or maybe Andromeda was right and she should just give it a bit of time.

Isn't that all she can do?

After dinner, she assists Andromeda with the dishes. The way Ted glances at them both curiously tells Poppy what she needs to know; there are probably spells for it, or something like it, but the woman is clearly determined to make her feel at home as possible. It makes her feel a little bad for being such a sour guest but she supposes if they'd minded it much they wouldn't continue to be so kind. She washes whilst the older woman dries and puts them away.

It's not long before Andromeda banishes her off to bed in a true motherly fashion.

She obeys.

When she creaks open the door to her little attic room, immediately she makes a bee-line for her bed before something catches her attention just out of the corner of her eye. The books and notes she'd stacked neatly on the desk the night before are gone. _Andromeda must've come to fetch them, after all_ , she decides, shutting her eyes and allowing sleep to claim her. _Hopefully she's not peeved I moved them._

* * *

 ** _AN;_**

* * *

 _Poppy doing mental gymnastics to convince herself Nymphadora can't actually warp her appearance is going to be my favorite trope in this entire story tbh_

 _Friendly reminder this is like my first attempt at a multi-chap fic in years and as such things might be a lil rough, especially since we're still basically just starting out? I just thought I'd get it out there bc this chapter was strangely hard for me to write (I rewrote the ending at least three times lol) and I'm still not completely satisfied but it'll get me through to the next chapter which was it's initial purpose I suppose & the next will hopefully be better so you kno what...Fine. I refuse to lose my mind over a fanfic it's not happening today sorry  
_

 _(also peep my weak dragon age ref)_


	10. so i'll make sure to keep my distance

_Disclaimer: Potentially jarring timeskips; if you need clarifying, the dates will be explained in the A/N at the end x_

* * *

 _ **chapter 9**_

 _theme:_

 _[ distance._

 _christina perri ]_

* * *

"I don't want her to go," whines little Poppy. It's futile, even as her mother gives her a pitying glance. Lily's things are all packed, and no amount of tantrums are going to keep her sister from running off to her beloved — _and_ _extremely far away_ — magic school. Three years of this, and Poppy is _tired_ of it. Her muddy-green eyes blur with tears, and her mother smiles gently and soothes back her hair in a calming fashion. It does little to mend her little heart breaking, and so she wipes at her eyes stubbornly. "It's not fair…She _alway_ s leaves."

"She'll be back for the holidays before you know it," Rose Evans reminds her, tone gentle. "I know you miss her dearly when she's away, but that will only make the time you do spend together that much sweeter, no? Besides, Petunia will still be around."

"Petunia won't play with me anymore. She's always with her mean friends!"

Her mother smiles sadly. "Oh, honey, sometimes as you grow up, you'll find that the people closest to you don't grow up in the same way." Rose sits on the twin sized bed with floral covers and pats the spot beside her and Poppy takes it, little face appearing entirely miserable. "Petunia loves you just the same as Lily. I know it's hard being the youngest and feeling like your sisters are abandoning you but nothing could be further from the truth, darling."

Tears stream down Poppy's cheek. "She could stay if she wanted. Why won't she?"

"That's a very selfish thing to think, dear," her mother chides slightly. "One day you'll grow up and be off to do your own things. Would you want either of your sisters to try and hold you back from it?"

"No…"

 _But it's not fair._

"Do you want to see Lily off to school with those sad eyes? Do you want to make her feel guilty?"

 _Kind of…_

" _No_ …"

"You are a little liar, aren't you?" Rose Evans laughs as she kisses Poppy on the forehead. "It's alright, sweetheart. Lily would never hold your feelings against you. And she would never abandon you completely, you know that?"

"I know…" Poppy's voice is small. And she does. Lily's been fiercely protecting her for as long as she can remember but it doesn't make the thought of her leaving for months on end once again any easier. Maybe that's what makes it so difficult in the end. "Will Petunia come with us to see her off?"

At this, her mother sighs almost tiredly; as if this conversation is in constant speculation. It is. "Now _that_ , I don't know."

It isn't a long drive to the station. Petunia opts out, to Poppy's immense annoyance, choosing instead to spend the day lingering in shopping outlets with her friends. Lily doesn't bother to look disappointed, even when her little sister sidles up to her side and hugs her comfortingly. She merely pats her head in quiet thanks. The car ride is spent with their father making bad jokes and their mother rolling her eyes fondly. Lily spends the entirety of it glancing out the window — wistful for a world she's going back to. Poppy spends it watching her sister long for a world that she herself will never belong in…and feeling absolutely miserable about it.

The waterworks, unsurprisingly, come once more when Lily has to leave for her platform. Poppy clings to her sister, tears streaming freely whilst her sister glances around almost embarrassed at the attention they're getting. _Well, too bad_.

"Poppy," her mother's tone is exasperated.

Whatever Poppy ends up mouthing out is muffled by the cloth of Lily's sweater. It sounds suspiciously like ' _don't go_ '.

"I promise I'll write," Lily mends, stroking Poppy's brunette locks back carefully. She bends slightly to meet her sister eye-to-eye, and Poppy meets her gaze reluctantly. "There's hardly a need for tears." And she wipes under sister's blotchy eyes with her thumbs, a pensive expression upon her freckled face. "You've never gotten so upset before, not even the first time. What's changed?"

Poppy purses her lips and shoots her gaze towards her parents who watch them patiently. Though, she can tell her mother in particular is getting antsy about the scene they're inadvertently causing.

"Come on, then, you can tell me," Lily presses, dragging her sister's gaze back to hers by pulling her by the chin. "What's wrong?"

"…One day you won't come back!"

Her sister blinks, emerald eyes widening at the outburst. Apparently, it's not what she'd been expecting. "What are you talking about?"

"One day," Poppy sobs out, "One day you're going to decide which world is more important to you, and you won't come back because magic is obviously better than the rest of us! And then you won't be around to play with me anymore, or to tell me stories, and you'll stop writing and — !"

"Whoa, whoa," intervenes Lily, calmly, though her eyes are distressed. "Who said anything about ' _choosing_ '? And I'd never abandon you all, you're my family. What's gotten into you?"

"You're leaving now and you'll come back for the hols, but one day you won't! You won't!"

"Poppy, that's enough," their mother cuts in, expression severe. Poppy sniffles, tearing her eyes away from her flabbergasted sister. Rose Evans pulls her youngest daughter away and gestures for Lily to get a move on. "Say goodbye to your sister. _Quietly_ , preferably."

Lily seems confused, more than anything. "Bye, Pop. _I'll write_ ," she stresses, giving her sister a comforting look.

 _For now_ , Poppy thinks sourly. She feels her mother pat her on the head once. "…Bye, Lily."

"Now, was that so hard?" Their father jokes lightly. "Bye, sweetheart. Be good, study hard."

"Bye, Dad, Mum," and with a lingering hug and kiss on the cheek to each, she's gone.

Poppy wants to start screaming again but her mother's grip on her shoulders keeps her mouth firmly shut. It's not fair, it's _not_. No one seems to understand but her… She glares moodily about the station, the burning sensation in her eyes not lessening a bit. On the way out, she catches the eye of a young boy looking about as miserable as she feels. His mouth is tugged into a permanent-seeming scowl, and the adults on either side of him appear even more severe in their dark robes. Magic people, then. Does no one else at the station notice? Or are they just all used to it by now? Just when she's about to look away, he apparently senses her watching him and meets her eyes questioningly.

Embarrassed at being caught blubbering like a baby, Poppy is the first to avert her eyes.

She doesn't notice the way his gaze follows her and her parents until they're out of sight.

— Or the way his mother tugs at his arm roughly, a positively furious expression on her face.

* * *

"— I think I've forgotten something," Lily says, and immediately Harry Evans groans as they pull into the parking lot of the station. There's really no stopping back home for safety, and it's clear. "I just have the feeling," she persists.

"Darling, we've checked your list at least twice," their mother assures her. "You went through your case before finishing packing, didn't you?"

"Yes but —"

"There's no way you've missed anything important," Poppy chimes in. "If you did, we can just send a parcel to you later, anyway."

"Yes _but_ — "

"Lily," Poppy whispers, so their parents aren't privy to the conversation as they all unbuckle and exit the car. Her sister's expression is one of great reluctance. Something is very wrong, and the youngest Evans heavily suspects it begins with Severus Snape. "You aren't worried about going back, are you? Because of… him?"

"No…" An easily detected lie. "That would be ridiculous. I'm over it."

' _It_ ' still remains to become clear to Poppy, but she understands at least enough to be offended on her sister's behalf. "Good, 'cos he's a git and not worth worrying over." She takes her sister by the arm and together they relieve each of their parents of at least one luggage case. They stroll deeper into the station in relative quiet, though it's bustling with muggles and Hogwarts students alike. Poppy's gotten rather adept at spotting the stealthily dressed ones by now, never mind the people dawned in gaudy colorful robes.

"Do you ever wear anything like that?" She asks, attempting to ease the tension.

Lily's returning laugh is weak. "No. Our school robes are black."

"Not looking to start a new fashion trend?"

"Wasn't at the top of my list," admits her sister, a little lighter. Something catches her eye and her entire being stiffens. Oh, no… "Let's hurry."

Poppy spots him not long after and she scowls at the wide-eyed look he fixes in Lily's direction. He'd better not… "If he comes over here I'm going to _break his nose_ — !"

"Poppy, please," Lily chides, exasperated. "Let's just go."

They move onward, and fortunately for him, Snape doesn't make an attempt to pursue them. He just watches Lily go like a sad little puppy, and Poppy can feel a pang of anger twist in her gut — how _dare_ he make her sister mope for an entire summer and then play the victim? Her grip on the handle of the luggage tightens, as if she's aching to clench her fingers into a fist. Their parents lag slightly behind, chatting about with some strangers, evidently.

 _Ever the socialites_ , Poppy wants to roll her eyes.

She's too busy inwardly sarcastically monologuing her parents potential conversation to pay attention to where she's walking… She ends up bumping straight into someone and sending them both tumbling to the ground in an almost impressively clumsy bout. " — Shit — _what_ — ," curses Poppy, so annoyed that she daftly misses the way Lily's breath catches sharply. Once the stinging in her back eases up, she manages to glance up at the person she'd run into and, oh.

He looks a splendid mixture of _extremely pissed_ and _massively confused_.

He's also astonishingly handsome with dark blue-black curls, somber charcoal eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. Well…that doesn't help matters. At all...

"Sorry, sorry," she says quickly. "I wasn't — I wasn't paying attention. This is my fault, sorry? Did I say that already?"

"Poppy, get up," hisses Lily.

"What —"

He stands on his own and takes his time brushing off his smart looking pants. He fixes his eyes on her; almost painfully disinterested. He pointedly doesn't offer her a hand, and so Poppy stays on the ground probably looking like a right fool. Okay, he's an asshole. Aaaaand she's acting like a proper muppet...

…But he's so attractive? It's not fair?

Lily's still positively steaming. "Poppy, _let's go_."

"Right," Poppy flushes, suddenly caught up on currents events now that she's not swooning over strange boys. She takes her sister's outstretched hand and uses it to haul herself back to her feet. "Sorry again," she says to the stranger, though she's not happy about feeling the need to be polite to such an arrogant man but you know. She chalks it up to the fact that he's the nicest looking boy she's ever met, probably. Just as he furrows his full and dark brows at her meek apology, Lily drags her away almost forcefully.

"Do you _know_ him?"

"Oh my god. _Yes_ , and no I'm not introducing you precisely because of that fact, among other reasons."

"He's fit, yeah?"

"Oh my god."

"What's his name, at least? I'm probably never going to see him again in my life, _come on, Lily_ ," insists Poppy, feeling just a tad like the desperate girls she spends hours making fun of with Odette on the phone most nights. Well, she's fifteen soon, it was only a matter of time, right? Best to fall in love with strangers she'll never see again than the rowdy boys in her year. She moves to glance over her shoulder; intent obvious, and Lily smacks the back of her head before she can catch a glimpse of his retreating form.

"You're so ridiculous. I find him a bit scary looking, to tell the truth."

"I think the magic has addled your brain a bit because you have never been this wrong in your entire life."

" _Poppy_."

" _Lily_."

"Poppy —" Lily begins, but she's interrupted by their mother and father finally catching up. As they begin to spout directions and begin the long-winded process of goodbye-saying among themselves, Lily fixes her little sister with a stern look that plainly says ' _stop this madness over that random bloke at once_ '.

As predicted, the year passes without any fated meetings with said 'random bloke', and Poppy is particularly disappointed when she doesn't catch sight of him whilst picking Lily up for the winter holidays but ultimately she's not surprised. Real life doesn't work quite like the movies at the cinema, after all. It's not long until the brief encounter is forgotten almost entirely.

* * *

Lily's seventh year brings with it a lot of change.

Petunia moves out, gets a boyfriend and a job but not necessarily in that particular order. She's rather secretive about her plans any further, and not even their mother can get much out of her about her precious 'Vernon'. It's clear that she intends to keep him as far away from the lot of them as possible. Poppy could easily lie and say that it doesn't hurt because it's expected, but… it stings a little, in the end, as much as she would like to deny it.

On the other end of things...

A letter comes mid-spring bluntly reading; ' _Dating Potter. I_ _ **don't**_ _want to hear it_. _That means you, Poppy_.'

"I thought she hated him?" Harry Evans inquires, bewildered. "Or was that a different Potter? The toe-rag?"

There's a knowing look in Rose Evans' eyes, however, and she shares a mirthful smirk with her youngest daughter.

* * *

( _Sometimes as you grow up, you'll find that the people closest to you don't grow up in the same way_ )

Poppy stares at the dark ceiling, her mother's voice resounding in her head. Flashing images of Lily being married, having a baby — _Petunia_ getting married, having a baby… Is she the one doing things wrong? Not keeping up? Is she the reason she's being left so far behind? It feels a bit selfish to try and ask them to slow down for a minute, to let her catch her breath… Isn't that what her mother had said? Holding them back is selfish.

She turns onto her side with a huff; hair billowing out behind her on her pillow case and a contemplative expression upon her face. Lost completely in thought until a tapping at her window jolts her abruptly out of her solemn musings. Poppy hops out of bed, almost freezes her toes off on the cold floor in her endeavor to reach the window. An owl peers in curiously at her and she lets it in; the owl courier service is old news by now, after years spent corresponding with Lily at school, but it hasn't lost its odd charm.

"Are you lost?" Poppy inquires, "Or is that for me?"

The owl makes a low sound, as if offended at the mere insinuation. Poppy fights back a smile and takes the letter from its beak, murmuring a quick 'thank you'.

 _Dear Poppy_ ,

 _I hope you're well (and adjusting!) I know it's hard, but Evans are a hardy bunch, are we not? Hang in there._

 _Mostly why I'm writing is that we've just got back from an appointment with the healers and…_

There's a drawing scribbled here of an anxiety-ridden stick figure, and it makes Poppy laugh to herself quietly.

… _It's a boy!_

 _Surprised?_

 _We were!_

 _(James bawled. 'My son!' he cried. Bless. I love the man.)_

 _Then came the discussion of naming little Harry's godparents and, well, obviously we want you as godmother. I'm assuming you accept because if you don't I'll floo to the Tonks' home myself and there will be many discussions had… Sirius is being named godfather, of course he was James' pick, so try not to antagonize him too badly if he happens to pop by? Or do. Not my business actually._

 _Before you badger me about it, I've already written Petunia! I've yet to receive a reply, and I have my doubts that I ever will. But I'm trying! So, you can't argue with me over it this time. Ha!_

 _But…seriously, I know we left things in an odd state and I promise I'm due for a visit soon. We'll talk and get some ice cream, yeah? You still like strawberry, right? There's a place in Diagon Alley that does a chocolate and raspberry combo that I've been craving! But the talk will be good, too… Can you tell I'm very pregnant?_

 _We're all doing well. The baby is nice and healthy. James is a bit panicky but that's to be expected with things such as they are. Remus and Peter have both asked after you, it seems you've made quick friends of them. Alice has stopped by once or twice, and we've bonded over morning sickness and late night cravings — true solidarity._

The next line is definitely _not_ Lily's neat cursive.

 _pregnant lils is driving us all mad s.o.s send help_

 _there's two of them now ! ! !_

Poppy snorts.

 _^^^ Sirius wanted to write you, but is too big of a prat to admit it and instead borrowed_ _ **my**_ _parchment. Anyway — Alice sends her best wishes, of course._

 _We're all rooting for you._

 _Keep your chin up, Pop_

 _Love,_

 _Lily (and inadvertently James and Sirius who are hovering over my shoulder and being very annoying and not cute.)_

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

1st - Beginning of Lily's third year. Poppy is about eleven & very sad.

2nd - Beginning of Lily's sixth year and after the fight w/ Snape. Poppy's fourteen, almost fifteen. (Idk if her age even matters in context, but u kno)

3rd - Seventh year aka the blissful awakening of Lily's thirst for James Potter! Ehhhh, about two 'n a half years, give or take, before the wedding (the prologue)

And then we are back to the present w/ ya girl

* * *

 _Clarifications that must be made;_

 _-Lily is a good sister ! she's trying !_

 _-thirsty!Poppy is a mess... surprise, surprise_

 _-Co-godparents Sirius & Poppy tho. Good luck dog-boy u will need it. This baby is like 1/3 hers already sorry I don't make the rules (but I do)_


	11. everywhere around me it's treason

_Disclaimer: I'd like to personally apologize to J.K. Rowling for the sins I've committed here on ff. net on this evening  
_

* * *

 _ **chapter 10**_

 _theme:_

 _[ sink or swim._

 _tyrone wells ]_

* * *

 _ANOTHER UNPRECEDENTED ATTACK ON MUGGLEBORN FAMILY — THE DARK LORD'S WORK?_

 _further details inside, page 7_

A moving picture — _yes, she's still not used to those_ … - shows a lovely little family waving cheerfully towards the reader. Poppy stares down at them, a hollow feeling in her stomach and a lump in her throat. The youngest child in the picture couldn't have been more than ten; face full with baby fat and wide, childlike eyes. She feels Andromeda moving behind her, preparing afternoon tea and her presence is perhaps the only thing keeping Poppy from bursting into tears. Why is this happening? To anyone? Had there been an article about the attack on her parents? Does she even really want to know…?

No.

The answer is a firm _no_.

She puts the paper down gingerly, trying not to alert the older woman to her inward distress. Andromeda finishes prep, and pours them both a cup. Poppy empties almost the entirety of the cream into her tea with three lumps of sugar whilst the other woman sips at hers black. Andromeda's eyes flicker towards the paper, the faint lines around her mouth drawing downwards as she frowns.

"It's getting worse."

Poppy stirs the excessive amount of sugar into her tea, unhappily. "I don't understand."

"It isn't an easy thing to make sense of," Andromeda replies darkly, though her coldness is clearly not directed at Poppy. She pats at one of Poppy's hands gently, her entire being softening in the gesture. "You're safe as long as you're here. We'd taken precautions even before your arrival with Ted being Muggleborn, of course…and my family being what they are. We aren't taking any risks; not with Nymphadora and not with you."

"That's — " _not the problem. People are dying. People like my parents, and all people can do about it is shake their head and say 'that's a shame.' "—_ Thank you."

Andromeda seems to keenly sense the words left unsaid. Her spoon hits the plate beneath her teacup loudly chiming, and effectively breaking the solemn quiet. Poppy's startled hazel-green eyes meet the older woman's honey-golden gaze, widened in shock. Andromeda pushes out from the table and stands abruptly; she's moving before Poppy can make sense of it, saying, "Come with me."

Dumbstruck, and left with little choice, Poppy leaves her tea to cool and follows the woman down the hallway a bit numbly. They make their way to the second floor in near silence with the sound of Andromeda's heels hitting the floor harshly echoing off the walls. Eventually they stop before a door that Poppy's never wondered about before, as it's a common theme for well-off wizard's homes to keep empty rooms, apparently. Andromeda grips at the doorknob, a pensive expression on her face.

"What —?" The older woman exhales sharply before pushing open the door. Poppy peers into the room, uncertainly, over her shoulder. "A library?" Poppy inquires, noting the heavily stocked bookshelves and papers strewn about.

Andromeda gently prods her by the arm— permission, she supposes. "Come on, then. There's something I want to show you."

Poppy follows her over to a messy desk. It's littered with newspaper clippings, books, and letters alike. She runs her eyes over the lot of it, seeing but not understanding fully. Andromeda picks through the mess with a detached frown before settling on a specific newspaper clipping dated a few years back. She hands it to the younger woman who takes it cautiously.

 _Another generic Muggleborn attack article. Another family torn apart... What's the point of this?_

"What is — "

"This one, too," Andromeda begins piling the endless stock of articles into her unwilling hands, looking troubled herself. "All of them. Do you see? I've kept them all. A reminder."

Poppy swallows, unable to meet the gazes of the families in the articles any longer. She sets them on the desk, water gathering in her eyes rather against her will. "A reminder of what?"

"That this will _never_ be my family. That no matter how hopeless things may seem, there's still a reason to keep fighting. Even if it doesn't feel like it," the older woman adds, patting Poppy gently on the cheek. "Even if you feel like there's nothing left to go on for…There are people out there who will always care and who won't stop fighting. People who aren't _forgetting_."

"… Andromeda," Poppy asks, voice cracking. "Why did they kill my parents?" In a moment of abject weakness, the youngest Evans falls to the floor and cradles her knees to her chest, crying. Andromeda kneels with her, eyes sympathetic. "What did they do to deserve it? Why — _I don't understand_! _What did any of them do_?!" She gestures wildly to the newspaper clippings spread across the desk, eyes blotchy and red.

She feels a hand smooth back the length of her hair, piling it neatly over her shoulder and away from her tear stained cheeks. And then she feels a warm arm wrap firmly around her shoulders in a comforting gesture before she rests her head hesitantly on Andromeda's welcoming shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart. There will never be an answer for that, let alone one that will satisfy you or take away the hurt, believe me."

" _It's shite_! It doesn't make any sense! _Why — !_ "

"Shh… I know," Andromeda hums, sounding pained herself. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Nobody deserves this," sobs Poppy, hollowly. An image of that child smiling back at her from the moving-photo from the first article appears before her eyes as she reaffirms, " _Nobody_."

"I know," Andromeda soothes, combing her fingers through Poppy's hair. "I know."

There's an echo from downstairs. Ted and Nymphadora announcing their return, likely. Almost instantly, there's the pitter-patter of tiny feet coming up the stairs and Poppy rubs at her eyes, sniffling heavily. Andromeda gives her one last gentle pat on the back before standing and helping the younger woman to her feet as well.

" _Mum_ ~ _We're home_!" Nymphadora calls out, tone cheerful and mischievous.

Andromeda rubs at her own eyes tiredly, still she offers Poppy a knowing smile. "Alright?"

"Alright," Poppy agrees, her returning smile a bit worn at the edges.

* * *

"— _Alright, Poppy_?" Nymphadora asks, head tilted, tousling her already messy pink curls further. "You look sad."

"I'm fine," replies Poppy, smiling forcedly and skimming through the small selection of books left on the night stand. Nymphadora looks skeptical, but doesn't press the issue. She instead focuses her attention to the books, as well, an eager expression upon her little face. "So, what'll it be tonight?" The nightly ritual of bedtime stories is not new — though, usually it's left to Ted, naturally, but Poppy felt the married couple could use one night of reprieve from putting their daughter to bed. Plus, it's good practice for when little Harry grows up, she supposes she'll be needing a proper degree in bedtime stories.

Dora presses her pointer finger to her chin in thought. "Hmmm…. I've already heard all these stories! Do you know any good ones by heart?"

"Well…" Ted might've run through all the usual muggle fairytales by now… But maybe not? She supposes she could make something up on the spot, but she's never been much of a storyteller, having spent most of her time in the gardens with her mother rather than listening to her father's endless supply of tall-tales on those mid-afternoons spent in front of the telly. There is one that comes to mind, though. It had been her on and off favorite as a child.

"Have you heard of Hansel and Gretel?"

"Hmmmm, nope," Dora pops the 'p', eyes flashing with excitement. It must be a trick of the light that they appear a bright golden for a moment because when Poppy goes for a second glance they are their usual muted brown once more. "What's it about?"

"Well," drawls Poppy, in an attempt to keep her tone comically mysterious. "It begins with a small family. A woodcutter, his wife and their two children; Hansel and Gretel. The family is very poor and keeping food on the table is a daily struggle, and so the mean wife of the woodcutter suggests leaving the children out in the woods on their own, so that they aren't in danger of starving themselves."

"But that's," Nymphadora frowns, squinting her eyes angrily. " _Not nice_."

"No, it's not nice," agrees Poppy. "And it took a bit of convincing, but eventually the woodcutter reluctantly agrees. Unfortunately for their scheming blighted asses," at this Nymphadora laughs, scandalized. "Hansel and Gretel had been listening at the door and Hansel came up with a plan so that they'd be able to make their way back home. He gathers as many white pebbles as he can in the night, so when the wife leads them to their almost certain death, they can track their way back home easily."

"But she doesn't want them there!"

"They didn't have anywhere else to go," reminds the older girl gently. "But you're right. When they return home, miraculously, their step-mother is furious. This time, she orders the woodcutter to take his children out further into the woods and to abandon them completely. With a distinct lack of pebbles, Hansel does the best he can with a trail of breadcrumbs but as you might expect, the woods are full of hungry animals and the crumbs are long gone."

"So, how do they get back?"

"They don't."

" _What_!"

"They spend days lost, hungry, and afraid. Perhaps it's a delusion brought on by hunger and thirst, but eventually they come across a house made entirely of candy and it seems almost too good to be true."

"Why haven't the animals eaten the house made of candy?" Nymphadora questions, expression so skeptic that Poppy has to laugh.

"I'd imagine it was enchanted to keep hungry animals out," Poppy offers lightly. That just makes Nymphadora more frustrated. "See, the house made of candy is inhabited by a witch!"

"A witch! Like Mum!"

"Umm… not _quite_ like your Mum. This witch isn't a very nice witch, you see. Though, Hansel and Gretel are a bit distracted by all the candy they could possibly shove down their gobs, so they don't immediately suspect something is wrong, of course. They follow her willingly into her home with grand promises of anything they could possibly need. Food, shelter, warm beds…"

"It's a trick, isn't it?"

"It's a trick," agrees Poppy firmly. "Maybe a witch was the wrong word for this old woman. Hag, might be preferable? And less offensive? See, she was becoming quite hungry herself and was simply fattening up the children so she could eat them up herself."

" _Ewwwwwww_! I knew it!"

"She locked Hansel in a cage — leftovers of a sort, I suppose, and put Gretel to work around the house. She'd spent weeks trying to fatten Hansel up to a delectable weight, or something like it, but he kept tricking her into thinking he was still too thin. Eventually, she decided she no longer cared about quality and decided to eat them both. However, when she asked Gretel to prepare the oven, clever little Gretel pretended not to understand and when the Hag went to demonstrate she shoved her in!"

The rest of the supposed 'ending' of the Hag seems a bit grim to be sharing with a seven year old, so Poppy improvises. "There they kept her imprisoned for the rest of eternity. Hansel and Gretel never went hungry again, living off of the Hag's riches and eventually were reunited with their father. — Their step-mother had," _fucked off_ , _but you can't say that to a child, Poppy!_ Quickly trying to filter herself she amends, "Their step-mother ran off with a new, younger woodcutter who had no children to be nasty to, thankfully. The end."

"That's a very weird story," Nymphadora giggles. "But I'm glad they didn't get eaten! I'm gonna tell Charlie," she yawns, sinking into her covers tiredly. "I'm sure he hasn't heard this one."

"Probably," Poppy weighed her options. Molly might kill her if the story ends up traumatizing her son, but also she'd filtered it well enough, hadn't she? The actual story was a lot darker and she'd turned out just fine. _Mostly_? "Good night, Dora," she says quietly, blowing out the candle at her bed-side, already the sound of faint snoring reaching her ears.

Well, that was suspiciously easy.

* * *

She's merely minding her business, heading off to bed, when the words are staring her right in the face and _—_

 _YOU 'R E MUDBLOOD SISTER IS L IEING_

Poppy lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Andromeda and Ted come running, of course. When the older witch catches sight of the writing on her door in some sort of thick, pitchy substance, she lets out an impressively long string of curses before— "I'm going to kill the little blighter!"

"'Dromeda," Ted tries to soothe.

"I'm going to kill him! That _word_ , _in my home_! Where are you, you little monstrosity?" She's screaming now, and Poppy has never seen the woman so upset in all their time together, which admittedly wasn't more than a few weeks now. She storms off down the stairs and in the direction of the kitchen. They can still hear her shouting as she stomps through the entire house, fury fueling her every step.

Ted watches her go before he fixes his eyes on Poppy, warily. "This…" He laughs, just a little bit disbelieving. It's hardly a comforting sound. "Let's get this cleaned up, then," he finally says and they get to work. Poppy is familiar enough with the Tonks' home by now to know where the cleaning supplies are kept, and she returns momentarily with a bucket of sudsy water and some rags. "Sorry about this," he offers meekly, as they scrub at the words. "I'm not as adept at cleaning spells as 'Dromeda is."

"I just — wasn't expecting writing on the door. I don't… It's…That's not a nice word, is it?"

"No," Ted agrees. "It's not."

"…Who did it? Andromeda was really angry?"

The wizard purses his lips, wringing out the rag over the bucket before getting back to work. "I…" He seems to sense that she's rather sick of all the cloak and dagger, and he exhales reluctantly, "A house-elf we've taken in. Well, we weren't left with much of a choice. He's not particularly fond of — ah — muggleborns, or muggles, see."

"House-elf?"

"The Potters didn't have any? Most Pureblood wizarding houses do, as far as I've been taught."

"Erm, no, not that I noticed? But I don't suppose I would know what to look for."

"Little ugly goblin-looking things," Ted answers, "Well. Not _all_ of them are as ugly as this one. I suppose they can be quite cute when they aren't spouting slurs left and right and condemning you to death in every other sentence… but I wouldn't know." He jokes.

"If it's really that bad, why did you take him in?" Poppy wonders aloud. "And how haven't I seen him in the weeks I've been here?"

"Andromeda tries to order him away for long periods of time. He always comes back, though. Contractual agreement, or something. He was meant to serve the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Ted explains easily, as if this isn't the weirdest bout of nonsense Poppy has ever tried to swallow in her life. "There aren't many of 'em left now. Andromeda being one of them, even if her banishment was rather, ah, public? I suppose Lady Black got tired of looking at his face every day and sent him off on his own and he found his way here."

Something about his tone tells her that he isn't telling the whole truth.

Still, it's more than she expected.

"He isn't…going to get violent or anything?" Poppy asks, feeling a bit nauseous as the words begin to sink in.

 _SISTER IS L IEING_

"— and what is _this_ supposed to mean?" She asks, gesturing towards the half cleaned door. "My sister? How does this thing… know Lily?"

Ted scratches at his beard, expression tense. "Look, I don't think anyone really knows why Kreacher does the things he does. He probably meant to scare you. Andromeda has tried to keep him away for the time being…but…I doubt he'll try anything more. He is under contract, technically, and Andromeda's made it clear that you're off-limits."

"But this —"

"She'll take care of it," he says, tone meant to be reassuring. It's not. Not really. "I know this is the last thing you needed to see, but trust that Andromeda won't let this go easily. He won't bother you again."

Right…

"Okay," Poppy agrees, ultimately left with little to no choice. They finish their work until the door is back to its pristine state. Ted bids her goodnight, and reminds her not to worry too much and that his wife is capable of sorting anything out. It does little to ease her nerves but she heads into her room feeling unconvinced anyway. Immediately, something feels off. A shiver runs through her very being as she takes in her surroundings carefully. Nothing seems…blatantly out of place? So... the house-elf thing hasn't been going through her stuff, probably.

Hopefully.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _ok well..._

 _at least that explains what Andromeda's been dealing w/ secretively. kind of. possibly. I have a hard time buying that Walburga kept Kreacher around after Regulus' death tbh, seeing as how fond the elf was of him and vice versa. Even if she was not necessarily a *good* mother, I think she loved her second son in her own twisted way and she wouldn't want that kind of reminder hanging about constantly. (esp if she's as cold blooded as we're left to assume) Orion's prob dead as well at this point, since we're inching towards Harry's birth slowly but surely just in case you're wondering where we're at timeline wise. (1980) Why Kreacher ended up at the Tonks' of all the places he could've gone (Malfoys, Lestranges...etc) it'll make sense sooner or later. We got a baby to worry about rn.  
_

 _And lastly, as for why Kreacher has decided to antagonize Poppy now... he's a little prick what do u want me to say lmao  
_


	12. i need you just to stand in my way

_Disclaimer: did u forget about the prophecy cos i didn't_

* * *

 _ **chapter 11**_

 _theme:_

 _[ our perfect disease._

 _the wombats ]_

* * *

 _"I do not take orders from the bloodtraitor. Or the mudblood. My Master is — "_

 _"You do as long as you're in_ _ **my**_ _house! And I won't tolerate such language in my own home!"_

 _A snarl. "Yes, Mistress Black."_

 _"Go on, then. And leave our guest alone as well."_

 _"Yes, Mistress Black…"_

* * *

It's hard for Poppy to shake the feeling of being watched after that whole ordeal. Knowing that there's a house-elf with a penchant for making snide remarks about people like her that she'd never run across…isn't the most helpful knowledge to have, she supposes. There hasn't been any more cryptic writing on her door so at least there's that. Whatever Andromeda did seems to have worked for the time being, but it doesn't lessen the paranoia growing steadily in the back of her mind.

A few more letters are exchanged between her and Lily in the passing weeks. The baby is doing exceptionally well, etc, etc. James is still an anxious ball of nerves. Sirius isn't being particularly helpful, making snarky comments here and there. Remus and Peter are doing their best to even things out by taking on some chores around the Potter house and doing their shopping.

If Poppy could be there, _she_ could be helping. Instead, she's trapped in a house with an elf that likely wants to see her strung like garland and a family — _while they are positively lovely_ —that isn't hers. She knows the feeling of being misplaced is not going away anytime soon, and so Poppy does what she does best in times like these; she throws herself into work.

Andromeda allows her to focus her attention on the miniature garden in the backyard. It's been a long time coming, Poppy suspects, because as she first begins the little plot of land is overgrown with weeds and dead plants alike. Some might feel discouraged, but this particular mess is exactly what she needs… It's nice to be faced with something she can actually _fix._

There's not much to be done about the dying rose-bushes, though she supposes she could ask if either Ted or Andromeda have a spell to bring life back to them… It feels like cheating, so she digs them up herself and spends the next couple of days weeding the garden and to her surprise underneath the rotting foliage leading up to the house there are rustic-looking stepping stones. She works around it easily, accentuating the antiquated feel of the small yard with off-white primroses leading up the pathway.

Mostly, it feels nice to be productive.

It feels nice to have something to worry about other than her own impending fate, or her parents, or Lily and Petunia.

It's just…nice.

Ted brings home perennials from a muggle home-improvement store nearby every now and then, and soon enough the yard is looking a little brighter from her endeavors. It feels something like a joke that wild, field poppies begin sprouting not even a month later. Andromeda swears up and down that she's had nothing to do with it, Ted as well. Poppy doesn't miss the sheepish expression that crosses Nymphadora's face at dinner that night, nor does she bother resisting the urge to smile brightly at the girl.

She picks one of them and presses it into a book she'd taken along.

If that pressed-flower page ends up slipped under the door of one Nymphadora Tonks, you didn't hear it from her.

* * *

Lily arrives one late-spring day with James on her arm and a vastly protruding belly. Poppy nearly gapes as she watches her sister make her way over to her before she realizes how rude she's being. "Poppy," Lily's already teary-eyed, throwing her arms around her sister and sniffling emotionally. She can feel the tears staining her blouse at the shoulder but she finds she doesn't mind all that much and tugs her sister further into the embrace, feeling a bit bleary eyed herself.

James watches, a worn but undeniably happy smile tugging at his lips.

"How are you?" Poppy asks excitedly, eyes taking the whole of her extremely pregnant sister in as she holds her at arms length. "How's the baby?"

"He's fine," assures her sister, firmly. Wiping at her eyes, she adds to Andromeda and Ted who watch patiently with little Nymphadora hiding behind her father's legs, "Thank you all. For taking such good care of my sister. I meant to write but —"

"You've been busy," Andromeda says in that particular no-nonsense tone that Poppy's grown used to. It's not impolite, merely lukewarm. Still, the woman's smile warms it up a bit. "It's quite alright. Your sister's been a huge help with Nymphadora. Not to mention her work in the gardens."

"Oh?" Lily beams, clearly pleased. "I'm glad you haven't given it up."

"Why would I?"

"Because you get mopey?" Lily teases gently, her smile softening the jab. She winces, and James is at her side in an instant, worry flittering in his eyes behind his circle frames. "Oh — _Oh_ , that was a kick. Someone's pleased."

James places a tentative hand on his wife's growing belly and lets out a disbelieving laugh as he jolts. "Been doing that a lot, lately," he explains to the rest of them, a fond expression written plainly on his face. "Bit of an active one, we've got."

"Nymphadora used to wait until ungodly hours in the morning to start kicking," Andromeda comments, wryly. The little girl in question squawks indignantly from behind her hiding spot behind her father's back. She peers around his legs just to poke her tongue out at her mother petulantly before taking cover once more. Andromeda sighs in exasperation, but it isn't hard to catch the little smile tugging at her lips.

Poppy smiles pleasantly at the exchange. For once, the burden festering in the back of her mind, all of her worries collectively lighten to a manageable weight — at least for _now._ It's enough, she thinks optimistically, as the Tonks lead the Potters further into the home and happy conversation surrounding babies and a distinct _lack_ of dark wizards takes place — It's more than enough.

* * *

It's too good to last.

It usually is. There's always a catch when things are a bit _too_ pleasant, at least that's how it's always seemed to Poppy Evans.

She knows, almost immediately, when Lily pulls her aside with a hesitant look in her brilliant green eyes. She can't meet her little sister's gaze evenly, and her eyebrows are furrowed in uncertainty. Poppy has to fight the urge to tell her to just _spit it out already._ She doesn't, and so they stand in the foyer just the two of them in eerie silence before Lily finally clears her throat and smooths back some strands of newly cut chin-length ginger hair behind an ear. "I… There's no easy way to get this out, so I'll just say it, I suppose."

Poppy exhales. "Is this about Mum and Dad?" She's been rather expecting it.

Lily stares at her before shutting her eyes briefly, her lips tugging into a pained frown. "…Not…No." As her eyes open, she lets out a shaky breath, too. "What made you think it was?"

"We never…talked about it," explains Poppy miserably. "Not really. We just sort of screamed. I mean, _I_ did most of the shouting but there was never an actual discussion, you know?"

"We — Do you _want_ to talk about it?"

"Right now?" Poppy frowns. "Not really. I don't particularly feel like re-opening that wound at the moment. It can wait," she says, looking pointedly at her sister's baby bump, and Lily nods her understanding looking more than a little relieved. "What did you want to tell me, then?"

All at once, the relief dissipates. It doesn't help the nerves settling in Poppy's mind whatsoever. "It's about the baby."

Oh god.

Please, not the _one_ good thing to come out of this entire mess.

"Everything's alright, right? You said the doctor — _healer_ — said everything was fine?"

"He's fine," Lily assures her, biting her lip harshly. "But…"

"But?" Poppy presses, fearful.

"But James and I are going to have to go away for a while. Just a little while. Until the baby is born, likely a bit after that, too."

"Wha — _Why_?"

"The organization we're a part of…do you remember we told you a little about them?" Poppy nods, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Well, there's been a bit of concern over the safety of a few of us. Alice and Frank are going into hid — I mean, going away for a while too."

 _Going into hiding_ , she'd almost said. Poppy isn't an idiot, despite what everyone else seems to think.

The youngest Evans curses in a decidedly unladylike fashion; a long string of expletives rolling off her tongue easily. Lily doesn't reprimand her, just this once. Small miracles. How far they've come from the days when Lily would skip off to their mother and demand Poppy's mouth be washed out with the strongest soap they had in the house.

"Are you in _danger_?"

"Not immediate, no," Lily tries to calm her, but it's evident that her older sister is unsure of this herself. "I promise if I were, I'd tell you. It's just…This entire situation has come up so abruptly and it's really just a precaution. I just worried that you'd fret over not being able to meet Harry immediately. Honestly, the wrath of Poppy Evans has me more fearful than anything else," she tries to joke, but it's a weak attempt. The fear is written all over her posture which is not the confident stride she'd watched her awkward and lanky sister grow into over the years. This is not fearless Lily Evans. This is scared-straight Lily Potter.

It's increasingly hard to resent her for it, but damn if she won't give it a proper go…

"Lily," sighs Poppy, with a particularly sour look on her face that clearly says ' _not the time for jokes_.' "What does this mean?"

"It means we're going to be apart for a while longer," admits her sister, forlornly. "And… we won't be able to write."

"For safety," Poppy clarifies, angry. "And I'm to stay put? _Here_? For safety. Of course."

"It's safest, Pop."

"Am I going to get any further explanation or am I wasting my breath?"

Lily purses her lips but remains silent.

"Brilliant," seethes Poppy, already eager to get away and isolate herself from the situation entirely. Her back is turned to her sister when she tosses over her shoulder spitefully, "Perhaps if I'm lucky, we'll meet again sometime before I start having children of my own."

And so she goes, storming up the staircase. She can feel her sister's eyes burning holes in her back. It's not fair. Nothing ever is.

 _Don't leave it like this_ , she can hear her mother's voice pleading with her.

But her mother is _dead_ and _gone forever_ and Poppy can do whatever she bloody likes, even if that means crying herself into a stupor all alone in her little attic room.

* * *

Poppy wakes to the taste of blood in her mouth and a pounding headache. Fantastic, really. If that's not enough, and it _never is_ , the first thing she sees when opening her eyes are these words scrawled onto the inclined ceiling above her bed in that same pitchy substance:

 _FI L THY MUGGLE_

 _PROF ESY THE BABE IS NO T SAFE_

This time, she has the sense not to scream. She can see that it's still early enough in the morning to be dark out, and doesn't feel much like sending Andromeda into another frenzy. Instead, Poppy shuts her eyes in disbelief. This is not happening. She is not sleeping in the attic of a stranger's home and there is not a fucking elf testing her patience with nasty messages. It's not — It can't be. This doesn't happen to normal people, and Poppy has always been distinctly average.

But it's a little harder to ignore the raspy voice that creaks out, "Filthy muggle...You cannot pretend to sleep."

Fearful, Poppy pries one eye open and this time she does scream. She tumbles out of bed in her startled state, hitting the ground in a useless heap and her backside smarts from the impact. The elf — and Ted wasn't very far off with the ' _ugly goblin_ ' descriptor, she realizes — stares at her in blatant distain. Its eyes are sunken in and narrowed in disgust. The dish towel it has tied over its shoulders and around its body is covered in grime and dirt and has blotches of that familiar pitchy ink — _oh my god._

 _"ANDROMEDA!"_ Poppy screams shrilly. To hell with propriety, she'll wake the whole damn neighborhood if she must. " _ANDROMEDA HELP_ — !" It's a bit pathetic that she backs away slowly from the tiny being — she is a lot larger after all, and has the advantage of height, but... "What the hell?" She lets out a hysterical sort of laugh. This isn't real. There's no way.

"Filthy muggle, Most Offensive Blight on the House of Bloodtraitors," the creature spits out, looking down the length of its crooked nose at her angrily. "My Master has ordered me to bring this to you." He holds out his shriveled little hands and, as if by magic, a hefty looking book appears. The cover is as dark as night, and that's really all Poppy can notice before fixing her eyes back on the baffling creature before her.

She stares at it, petrified into silence. She can hear Andromeda's worried voice coming up the stairs, along with another pair of footsteps.

Apparently frustrated with her lack of action, the elf launches the book at her head, which she just barely dodges whilst gasping out in shock. Then, with a blink, it's gone.

Her door is thrust open by a haggard looking Andromeda, and Poppy lets out a shaky breath. "What is it?" The woman is at her side in an instant, running her hands up and down the length of the younger woman's arms comfortingly. "A nightmare?"

Ted follows closely behind, a pensive expression upon his normally jolly face.

"— Elf," Poppy gasps out, falling to the ground with wobbly knees. Andromeda's expression at once goes murderous, and Ted's lips form a thin line. "He — It? It said you ordered it to give me something. A book, I think? It fell on the bed when it threw it at me."

Suspicious, the Tonks both move to examine the offending object. It doesn't seem to register as keenly with Ted, but Andromeda's eyes widen at once at just a glance of the cover. She runs her thin fingers along the binding before turning her eyes to Poppy warily. "You didn't touch it, did you? It didn't make contact with you at all?"

"No," assures Poppy. "I dodged."

"I would never tell the little blighter to get anywhere near you," Andromeda curses, flitting through the pages of the book with a particular tenseness to her. Her husband puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. After looking a bit, she seems to not have found whatever it was she was looking for and shuts the book harshly. "I need to have a word with my dear c — " She seems to catch herself. "A dear _friend_." The absolute fury in her eyes tells Poppy pretty clearly that this 'friend' is not very dear to her at all in this moment. She hurries out of the room, still clutching the book.

"What was it?" Poppy asks, now that the immediate danger is over.

Ted glances at her. "Probably a cursed artifact. I couldn't really sense anything off, but I suspect Andromeda was familiar with it because those sort of run in her family."

"Cursed? Like — Like I could end up with bad luck for seven years?"

"Cursed," Ted says slowly. "Like you could end up irreparably injured, or dead."

"Oh. Brilliant."

Ted's laugh is a hollow one. "Let's go get a cuppa to calm you down?" He tries gently, and Poppy nods numbly. She follows him down the stairs and to the kitchen with her thoughts racing; effectively terrifying her in the process. She knew the elf didn't like her extended presence, she knew. Why was she so thrown off? They had said they'd try to keep it — him? — in line, but how could you control a magical creature?

Add it to the ever-growing list of questions Poppy thought she would never have to ask herself. Just throw it on there.

* * *

 **AN;**

* * *

 _did u forget about kreacher cos i didn't_

 _also i promise i don't hate Lily that's not really my intent but since we only see Poppy's side of things there's an obviously skewed sort of perspective being presented and i apologize cos Lily is GOOD and PURE but i need drama for the sake of this story so sorry but not really_

 _** updates will be more sporadic and random bc i'm moving soon so probably won't be as quick as it was for the first few chapters until mid to late june tbh **_


	13. i'll be doing my best, i'll see you soon

_Disclaimer: brief POV changes might happen more often for the next few chaps_ ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴

* * *

 **chapter 12**

 _theme:_

 _[ see you soon._

 _coldplay ]_

* * *

 _"Mum? Da —"_

 _"Sectumsempra!"_

 _She lets out a shrill scream as she falls to the ground, blood pooling quickly beneath her stiff form._

" — _I'm sorry. They'd already killed them by the time — I — They'd kill you, too, if I didn't— make it look —"_

 _"Y-You — !" The burning sting of tears, blood pooling beneath her like she'd been pricked with a bunch of tiny glass shards. The pain is nothing compared to the fury swelling in her gut, not dulled even by the misty exhaustion clouding her quickly blurring sight. "You — ! She trust — ed you — even after — she — "_

 _ **She wanted to forgive you.**_

 _His sallow face twists into something akin to regret, but the beckoning call of his colleagues draws near. Her useless pleas for him to stay away egging them on... Their sneering, their crowing about their victory — his reluctance is erased and swiftly replaced with resignation as he points his wand at her and whispers, "_ _ **Obliviate**_ _."_

* * *

Sometimes, when Poppy wakes from a particularly harrowing nightmare that she can't _quite_ recall, she can feel the presence of someone not really there. It sounds…daft and awfully creepy in a sense, but there it is. An invisible figure hovering over her, watching her with eyes she can never meet. As she sits up in bed, heart racing in her chest, she runs a hand over her face miserably. Her mind tries to grasp at straws, anything it can get its grip on but — nothing. Perhaps, she should be more grateful that the visceral images of her parents' deaths are no longer haunting her nightly, but the frustration that comes along with not quite remembering what's put you in such a terrified state is almost equally off-putting.

At least she didn't scream and wake Andromeda and Ted.

Or, perhaps worse, she hadn't accidentally inflicted Kreacher upon herself… The elf has taken recently to popping in and out of her sight, every so often, to remind her of her lowly place in the world. _Filthy muggle_ , indeed. She's gotten so used to it now that she half expects him to be tucked under her bed each morning just awaiting an opportunity to grab her by the ankles, and so she stays comfortably in bed with her covers pulled up to her chin. She's not afraid…Just…Just _in case,_ alright?

Warily, her eyes flicker towards the alarm clock perched on her nightstand. 2:30 a.m.

At once, Poppy flops back onto her pillow, letting out a low groan. Fantastic. At this rate, she'll never fall back asleep, and when she inevitably passes out mid-day her entire schedule will be off. Her eyes turn towards the cracked open window, watching the branches of the tree sitting outside sway in the crisp summer late-night wind.

Against her will, her mind wanders to Lily. Lily and her little family, Lily and the lack of correspondence just as promised for the past few months. Lily with her unusually frightened green eyes and her anxious ball of a husband.

And it's eerily like being doused in ice cold water. Poppy sits up abruptly once more, amazed that her back isn't protesting all the sudden movement, and drags a frustrated hand through her shoulder length locks before tugging lightly. No, _bad. We aren't thinking about Lily. Not now._ But it's increasingly hard not to, with the end of June soon approaching, and reaching closer and closer to the baby's due date — Will she even really know when he's been born? Will there be an exception to the no-letters, no-phone calls, absolutely no-contact rule?

Careful to keep her angry groan muted enough not to alert anyone, Poppy feels positively heated. Of course not.

Lily is nothing if not a stickler for rules.

Even infuriatingly vague ones.

Her only distraction from obsessively worrying has been the little job Andromeda had acquired for her. It wasn't much. A hedge-witch, as Andromeda had referred to her, had been looking for someone with knowledge of most plants — even muggle ones — to inspect them and prep them for various medicinal purposes. Poppy wasn't particularly gifted in such, her talents lying almost definitively in floral arrangements, but she'd assured the older witch she'd give it a proper go mostly out of a sense of obligation, honestly. And so, she had. They corresponded through letters and parcels via owl, for the most part, but sometimes the witch would visit through the Floo network to teach her a bit more so she could work with more complicated foliage.

Ted would offer to convert her pay to muggle money at the start but she honestly didn't see the point. She _still_ doesn't. In fact, Poppy insists, even now, rather vehemently that the Tonks just take a majority of her payment as some sort of rent but they'd plainly refused. Andromeda's favorite argument is that they have no need for the money but Poppy suspects it's more a matter of pride for the woman. She'd taken Poppy in out of the goodness of her heart — payment might feel something too much like a cop out, or something?

It's annoying, but she's decided to let it be. For now.

She's made a marginal enough sum that upon her return back to Cokeworth, whenever that may be, that she'll be able to settle herself back in comfortably. Definitely won't be getting that old flat back, as she heavily suspects that it's been swiped by another by now with her extended absence — her landlord is likely _furious_ — and Mrs. Willows has already been dealt with by Sirius, she supposes. Poppy desperately hopes she at least found someone nice to replace her, even if the thought puts a bitter taste in her mouth.

 _Almost a year,_ she thinks. Almost a year exactly, since she's been uprooted from 'normal' life, whatever that had been. She doesn't even remember precisely what 'normal' feels like anymore. As she settles back down in a vain attempt to fall back to sleep, her muddy-green eyes flit back towards her open window wistfully before shutting firmly.

Sleep doesn't come easy.

* * *

"Muggle filth wandering about like it owns the house. Bah! Mistress Black would weep to see what's become of poor Kreacher…"

"Not now," mutters a tired Poppy, shoving Kreacher away with her elbow. Not harshly, he is just a small thing, after all. An increasingly _irritating_ and positively _vile_ small thing, but nonetheless... She doesn't wish him harm, just… to be far away from her and her oncoming headache. Unfortunately, it seems he's particularly persistent in eliciting a response from her today. Brilliant, just brilliant.

He follows her closely, and she catches a glimpse of his gnarled expression behind her in one of the hallway wall-length mirrors. "The filth insists on snooping about its prison. One wonders what the dirty-blooded thing is looking for. Something to steal?"

"Oh my god…"

"Master's possessions are protected," he continues, harshly. "Filthy muggle will not get its hands on any of it!"

"I don't want any of your ' _Master's_ ' rubbish, okay?" Poppy exhales, irate. The elf glowers up at her skeptically, which is fantastic. She liked it better when all he did was leave her little notes to let her know _he cared._ The daily reminders of her 'dirty blood' and 'filthy existence' were entirely unwelcome, especially after getting next to no sleep. Who would've thought? "If Andromeda sees you out, she'll have your head," she warns.

"The Bloodtraitor does not scare Kreacher."

"Oh?"

"Only Master can order Kreacher. Only Master can punish Kreacher."

Poppy squints at that. "Then _why is Kreacher here_?" Her tone is sarcastic, but that doesn't quite seem to register with the house-elf.

He curls his lip cruelly up at her. "Master has ordered Kreacher to stay. To wait." He fixes her with a particularly venomous look. "To observe."

With the snap of his tiny fingers, he's gone. Poppy blinks at the empty space once before shaking her head and letting out a frustrated growl. When will she learn to stop asking questions? What's _wrong_ with her?

No.

What's wrong with _him?_

She lets out a little scoff before turning on her heel and heading for the kitchen, her mind set firmly on hot cup of tea and nothing else.

* * *

 _ **POV ? ? ?**_

* * *

 _MUGGLEBORN FAMILY TARGETED BY DEATHEATERS —_

 _Cokeworth, 1979_

 _The Evans family of four were targeted this past weekend by an_ _ **[undetermined]**_ _amount of Deatheaters, as shown by the picture attached of the grim Dark Mark appearing above the small family's home after the brutal attack. Rose and Harold Evans were killed — testing came back inconclusive which leads Healer-experts to believe that dark magic — namely_ _ **unforgivables—**_ _may have been used. There were no signs of struggle from either of the middle-aged couple._

 _The lone survivor of the attack —one of their muggle daughters,_ _ **[picture attached]**_ _the only one who was home at the time — was brought into St. Mungos for immediate care. Expectations of recovery are currently unknown. Injuries sustained include internal bleeding and marginal amount of incisions to the outer flesh of the victim's arms, neck, and back. The spell used to achieve such is unknown, and as such so is the counter-curse. The Head-mediwizard in Spell-Damage has refused to answer any further inquiries for the time being._

"Bit excessive," a lilted masculine voice mutters dryly, as the owner lowers the paper. Something catches his eye, though, and he brings it back up to examine more closely. His throat tightens as his eyes roam over the abnormally still-picture of the three daughters. The one in the middle peers from the page with her head tilted onto the sister to her left's shoulder and a wry smile. The one to her right, the tallest of the three, observes her perfectly manicured nails with a pinched expression upon her sharp face.

 _Expectations of recovery are currently unknown._

Sighing, he tacks up the clipping along with the others, giving the girl in the middle one last glance. "For your sake, I hope they end it quickly."

She stares back, unchanging. Still smiling.

There are more important matters at hand.

The distraction isn't enough to stop the guilt that hits him in waves. Saccharine eyes peering out from the black and white photo, unseeingly _— not dead, not dead, not dead. Not yet._ _—_ This article isn't like the others. Those were all detached, impersonal, and full of faces he's never seen before in his life. He spends hours upon hours hunched over books, notes, clippings whatever he can get his hands on but his eyes always drift back to _that picture_ stuck to the wall.

It takes him a while to drudge up the name, but when he does he tastes it like blood in his mouth.

Lily Evans.

 _—_ and at once, his mind won't quiet.

Not dead, not yet. Not dead, not yet. _Not dead._

He knows things.

Things he shouldn't. Things that should have killed him. Things that _will_ kill him.

But he's not dead yet, and neither is the girl in the photo. She stares at his back, as he drowns himself in the mindless writing of men out of their minds to find something worth grasping onto. Anything. The mark on his arm hisses that there is _no redemption_ , not for foolish boys who run from fate _—_ certainly not for fools who play dead and tempt actual death by involving himself with things far bigger than himself.

Lucky, then, that redemption isn't what he's after. He's got no use for it now that he's dead to anyone that matters.

Nearly eight months after the article is first published, he sends his only trusted companion off with a pitch black book with a warning tucked neatly inside:

 _The boy isn't safe._

It ends up in the hands of the wrong woman, in the end.

Life is funny like that.

Life works against him like that.

"Are you out of your mind?" Andromeda's voice is taut with anger. He can't blame her, really. Though her accusations hang silently in the air as he contemplates just how he's going avoid getting hexed for his elf's transgressions. "That _— thing_! You promised to keep him under control. I can't have a prejudiced elf in my home, do you understand? It's even more imperative now, circumstance such as they are! Look at me!"

He meets her gaze, warily. She looks so much like Bellatrix, in that moment, that a shudder nearly causes his shoulders to shake violently. "The book wasn't cursed."

"No," Andromeda agrees icily, but her eyebrows are still furrowed in a way that assures him he's not absolved of anything quite yet. "No. But it _was_ a book of extremely complex studies done on prophecies made in the past century _— divination, really?_ I don't know what you were trying to accomplish but trying to hand that off to a _muggle_ _— ! "_

 _"_ The son," he says. "They think that it's him."

She stares him square in the eye, lips pulled into in a thin line. "I know that."

"No. Not...your people." He watches her honey-golden eyes flicker towards his left arm, covered by the sleeve of his sweater. At her silent question, he nods affirmation.

She huffs. "That explains why the Potters are going into hiding so suddenly."

"It might not be enough." His next words are reluctant, but sincere. "You should modify her memory and send her overseas. Someplace far. Things are becoming rapidly more complicated...I know you wanted to help but maybe..."

 _"Maybe?"_

 _"_ I know for certain Rabastian and Rodolphus remember her by face, and Snape was almost certainly the one to incapacitate her, based on injuries alone. I think, given that fact, it's safe to say that Bella would be able to suss her out if she were provided enough of a description. She's already got her reasons to come after you, best not to paint a bigger target on you and your family's back."

"I'm not abandoning her."

"Things aren't so simple anymore," he replies, keeping his tone level. "Your intentions are good, I'm sure, but I'd suggest putting an end to it. Soon. She's in more danger with you than she'd be on her own."

"Or what? You'll send your elf to harass her some more?"

"I didn't give him any direct orders to interact with her beyond the book." A harmless half-truth, and certainly not the biggest almost-lie he's ever told. He may or may not have ordered Kreacher to take back the notes he'd left behind in the attic after his brief stay.

"I _can't_ just send her away. Even if it would be safer, it's unreasonable to ask her to put up with more an even more abrupt change of surroundings."

"Hence... modifying her memory."

Andromeda frowns deeply at that. "That's dishonest. I wouldn't feel right. Imagine having bits of your life just taken from you..."

"Better than dead." _Probably._

"You heartless little prat." But the fight has quite obviously left her, and she looks as resigned as he's ever seen her. Nobody survives growing up in the Black family without a hearty dose of emotional-stunting. She's as bad as he is, if not worse. At least his mother's convinced he died the perfect albeit _stupid_ son. "I'll think about it."

He turns back to his work; his life now. "Don't take too long." When she leaves, he's not sure, already wrapped up in the never ending amount of text awaiting his bloodshot eyes.

He can feel those unassuming eyes burning a hole into the back of his skull from their place on the wall.

* * *

 _July 2nd, 1980_

 _I haven't kept a diary since I was in primary school._

 _I guess now's a good time as any to pick it back up. At least, that's what Dr. Middlebrooke said. Suggested._

 _A place to keep my thoughts, however mundane or random they may be._

 _The first step to healing?_

 _Getting the hell out of Cokeworth._

 _..._

 _Feel a bit silly, sitting on the tram by myself and just writing... What do I even write about, really? There's a crying toddler a few seats behind which makes me exceedingly grateful that kids are so far into my future that I can't even completely comprehend the mere idea of it._

 _Right now, I think I'll focus on work. I found a nice place not too far from my new flat... The owner seems a bit of a tosser; a real grumpy old man, but at least he's got a keen eye for arrangements... And apparently seemed to think the same about me because I received a call informing me of my new hours just a week ago! Is this real life? I distinctly remember Tuney moaning about how hard it was to find even a desk job a while back._

 _But Petunia just likes to bitch in general, so ..._

 _I guess I'll leave it there._

 _No dramatic self-revelations here today, I'm afraid. Just some rambling. I'm almost at my stop, so, see_ _— I'll write some more later._

 _(If I remember!)_

* * *

She steps off the train, a lightness in her steps. The ticket man offers her a hand that she takes politely, in a strangely fair mood, evidently. He grants her a cheerful smile and sends her off with a tip of his hat. Poppy waves briefly before adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder firmly and turning to examine the station; a decidedly rejuvenated air about her. Therapy. Apparently it does wonders for inexplicable night-terrors and deep-seated guilt.

Who knew?

Not Poppy, not until now, that's for certain.

The loss of her parents still lingers, even now.

 _A terrible accident_ , Dr. Middlebrooke had said. A terrible accident that Poppy inexplicably outlived, and her parents did not.

That's what makes it worse; the guilt.

 _Baby steps._

 _The guilt is unfounded. It wasn't your fault._

 _It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't.  
_

Think it like a mantra until it feels true.

 _Don't try to rationalize everything all at once, but don't repress._

 _It's all about balance, see. That's how you begin to cope._

"Excuse me?" A voice says softly from behind her. And Poppy turns on the heels of her feet, bewildered. A woman with obviously bleached hair and hazel eyes offers her a kind smile. "You _— I'm sorry._ This is going to sound strange, but you look awfully familiar? Have we met someplace before?"

"I..." Poppy gives the woman a once over, combing through her more recent memories. "I don't think so?"

To her surprise, the woman looks something akin to mildly relieved at this revelation and her beatific smile widens. "You just look like a friend of mine, that's all. I wondered."

Feeling unusually cooperative, Poppy presses, "What's your friend's name? Maybe it's a cousin? I do look a bit like Freesia, but," she trails off a bit sheepishly, thinking of her rather plain elder cousin. Both mousy-brunettes, both prone to flushing patchy-red in moments of sheer embarrassment. In fact, she far more resembles her lanky cousin than tall, curvy, and platinum blonde Petunia.

"Ah..." The stranger's face reads reluctant before she offers, "Lily Potter is her name."

A chill runs up Poppy's spine but she belatedly relates it to the chill in the mid-summer air. "Um...No, sorry, I don't think I know a Lily Potter? I mean, my great-grandmother's name was Lily but..." Potter _is_ a common surname, but rather unfamiliar to Poppy.

The woman nods. "Sorry, again, just... wondered," she smiles, but it's more forced this time. "Sorry _— ah._ I should go, don't wanna miss the train!" She says suddenly, taking off in those precariously thin heels. Poppy watches her go, a dumbfounded expression upon her face. She ran in the opposite direction of the platform.

She considers calling out _— to tell her to go the other way_ _—_ but something holds her back.

Instinct tells her to mind her own business, and so she turns and heads off in her own direction towards the cab she knows is awaiting her outside. Onward to a new adventure, a fresh start.

The first step to healing.

Or so it seems.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

( ◡‿◡ ) ( ◡‿◡ ) ( ◡‿◡ ) ( ◡‿◡ )

 _as mentioned in disclaimer, we'll be alternating POV w/ Mystery Boi (*pretending to be shocked . gif*) for the next little while. we're also going to be stuck w/ ProperMuggle!Poppy in her own element for a bit. finally... and Harry is almost being born or smth. neato  
_

 _also prob kinda important - i personally headcanon that memory-modifying spells (disregarding 'obliviate' which pretty clearly speaks for itself) are basically like putting a safety-lock in place, or like... baby-proofing somebody's mind so that they can't reach specific times/places/events or anything related to said things. while obliviate destroys the memory entirely, this is def more temporary. the memories are still there; they still exist, they're just locked behind a lot of doors. i honestly just really don't like the idea of irreversibly fucking w/ someone's head so severely so let's pretend these magic people have a small arsenal of pretty harmless memory spells specifically for emergencies ok?  
_

 _ok_

 _that being said, i'll accept my roasting for the horrible things i'm putting Poppy thru. have at me. drag me to hell. i'm ready_


	14. interlude: lily

_disclaimer: lily introspection etc etc._

* * *

 _ **interlude: lily**_

hold on, my darling.

this mess was yours, now your mess is mine

[ _mess is mine._

 _vance joy_ ]

* * *

 _"You promised you wouldn't choose! You said you wouldn't!"_

The betrayal tastes bitter going down, like a pill. When you make your bed, all that's left to do is lie in it, and so Lily Potter finds herself near-suffocating in the covers of repercussions wrought with the decisions she's made. The decisions she didn't make leer at her from dark corners, taunting her with smarmy and shadowy grins.

 _You want the best for her, don't you?_

 _Do you want what's right, or what's safest?_

 _Make up your mind, Lily. We haven't got the time._

A thousand voices — _really only a dozen_ — all telling her the same thing.

"Make up your mind, Lily."

James is nicer than the others. He tries not to push, knows that she can't be strongarmed into anything she's firmly against. Not really. Lily Evans was a force to be reckoned with and anyone who'd crossed paths with her at Hogwarts would tell you the same thing. Lily Potter? Scared shitless is what she is, mostly. Positively frightened and dangerously indecisive.

She was never supposed to be a target. Her family — they were never meant to be touched. She was so careful, always keeping tight-lipped about where she's from, how many siblings she has, her parents' names. No one beyond Marlene, Emmaline and Alice ever got more than brief, and particularly vague childhood stories out of her while at school. Potter — now _James_ — and his friends got even less.

The only one who knew was Se— _Snape._

Lily Evans would've given anything to believe that there's a million other explanations for it. She'd defend him until she was blue in the face for her childhood best friend would never do that to her parents. To her sister. _To her_.

Lily Potter wants to kill him. Flashes of hospitalized Poppy — so pale, so much blood lost — turn her vision red. Lily Potter wants to storm Spinner's End and find the traitorous scum and hex him blind. Hex him beyond repair, perhaps even use his own bloody curse against him. Wouldn't that be ironic, and so, so fitting? The knowing is almost worse than the helplessness. She'd always lectured him about that particular spell, reminding him that it was too-dangerous. Too dark. Now, she just wishes she'd learned the counter while she had the chance.

If he decides to make a second attempt at Poppy, she knows that little will stop him. He knows everything.

The only certain way for her baby sister to be completely safe is to weed out the remnants of _her._ The only bits that he cares about.

But she's hesitant — it's wrong, wrong, wrong. And she hates the idea of being nothing more than a locked-up memory in her sister's head, but it would be all too easy for everything to go to shit and Poppy to get the brunt of it for simply being related to Lily. Again. And so she sits on the idea, and James knows better than to bring it up, but those in the Order don't. As they remind her constantly.

" _It'd be temporary, until the war is over_ …"

Lily knows the war isn't going to be over anytime soon.

Can she live without her sister?

Her first thought is _no_. _No, she cannot._

 _So, she will not._

It's easier. Letting Poppy believe that their mother and father perished in a fatal car accident...That Poppy herself had been hospitalized from it, her survival a medical miracle. A blessing. It's easier, to let her think that Petunia's bitterness is born of the same frustrations as ever. It's easier…but that doesn't make it feel right, in the end. The lies. It all gets a bit too muddy.

And — Lily gets married. It's the first time in months that she allows herself to feel happy, even if it's partially pretend. James holds her, knowing exactly who she is and what she's done, and he _loves_ her. Her eyes flicker to her sister — and just as the guilt threatens to consume her; he pulls her back down and becomes the gravity that keeps her from wandering to far off places. He keeps her sane. She only hopes the love she feels for him is enough repayment for his endless patience.

It feels like a farce.

Dragging Poppy into this thing that is much bigger than the lot of them.

Lily tries so hard to convince herself that everything will be fine, that there's a reason to keep fighting to keep her sister in her life. She can have it all. She doesn't have to choose. She doesn't — _she promised she wouldn't, didn't she_? —

That Poppy's near first reaction is to ask whether Petunia's being protected… It's almost enough to drag the truth out completely. Just not quite.

It's not easy to hand Poppy over to the Tonks, knowing what she does. The complicated twists and ties of the Black family, but Sirius is Andromeda's biggest advocate, and James is Sirius'. So, she lets her go, even with the guilt and nerves swelling in her gut feeling more tangible than even her growing baby.

— _It's a promise she can't keep, after all._

Fate forces her hand, and she finally has a choice to make.

She chooses Harry.

James does his best to comfort her, in the aftermath. She can see the life in his eyes slowly draining, he's so tired. They all are. Marlene reports in at the next Order meeting. It's successful, and Lily's properly locked out of her little sister's head for the moment, maybe forever. At least until the war is over. When it ends. If it ends.

Remus tries to calm her; tells her that she's in good company. He'll keep an eye out, from afar, as best he can without risking triggering her memory.

She merely smiles at him, sure she looks nearly dead by the concern he fixes her with. "I know, Remus, thank you."

Sirius is livid at the idea of it. James deals with the brunt of his sharply honed anger, mostly because he is the only one who can. They both disappear for a day and return with their arms over each other's shoulders. Brothers again. James' upper lip is bloodied. Sirius has a black eye. Neither Lily, nor Remus feel particularly merciful for the pair and so the wounds are left untreated by magic. James' lip scars over. Sirius doesn't look particularly apologetic.

When it comes time to pack up once more, things get a little more dire.

Dumbledore suggests a secret-keeper.

James immediately picks Sirius.

Sirius convinces them to pick someone a little less obvious. It takes a few weeks worth of arguing about it. James is insistent, but Sirius is stubborn in his own right. Lily, tired of it all, throws Remus' name into the discussion. He immediately retracts, though humbly. Peter's decided on, in the end. Whether it's a good decision or not matters little. It's done.

When Harry is born, she's screaming — she sees her mother's face smiling and telling her to just go on, go on, go on. — And she can hear Poppy's melodic voice calling Harry's name sweetly. Her little godson.

 _She should be here._

 _She would love him so much._

It's too much, way too much, and she falls apart. James loves her more than any man has a right to, though, and even if she can't be the perfect mother he will be the imperfect father to match. She knows this, perhaps, more than anything. When she can't stand the sight of her own son, James sweeps him up in his own arms and hums a lullaby.

When she can't look her baby in the eye — because his eyes are so starkly green, and bright, and full of life — he is there to wrap him in his arms and put him to sleep as she cries.

And where Poppy should be, Sirius is, filling the gaps appropriately and efficiently. He's a lot more gentle with the newborn than Lily would previously have expected him to be. He even gets used to changing his nappy which damn near blows her mind. Sirius Black. Changing diapers.

Will the world ever cease to amaze?

It's the little moments in which she finds herself glancing to the side, looking for someone to quip to, that are the worst. She finds herself constantly looking for Poppy's familiar exasperated face, her warm spirit, anything, she'd take _anything._

She misses her dearly.

 _But it's not worth the risk of her life. Never._

Lily Evans might have caved, long ago, and sought redemption for the terrible things she's done for the sake of safety.

Lily Potter will not. Her love is strong enough to keep her away. She just hopes it's enough to save.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _i felt like a look into Lily's head was needed? maybe it just makes her seem even worse idk. i really do love Lily but maybe i just need to accept that there's no way to justify the stuff she's done, even if those decisions were made in distress. i also highkey headcanon that Lily was maybe the most stressed-out she's ever been after Harry, and maybe that stress manifested in v slight neglect? TBH this AU!Lily has gotten out of my control, i really didn't intend for her to be so seriously flawed but i'm gonna have to deal w/ it._

 _quick up8 because i felt bad for last chapter but i feel like i just made it worse so sorry ! im a mess_


	15. this one's for the faithless

_Disclaimer:_

 _**me** : i'm sorry  
_

 _**everyone still reading this** : it's too late to apologize, it's toooooooooooooooo late _

* * *

**chapter 13**

 _theme:_

 _[ comes and goes._

 _greg laswell ]_

* * *

" _Odette,"_ Poppy exhales, fondly exasperated. "It's five in the morning. On a Saturday…"

Her dearest and oldest friend quirks a perfectly shaped brow at her. She's got her massive curls tied haphazardly into a bun atop her head, and the kind of look on her face that concerns Poppy Evans to her core. She _knows_ that look like she knows the back of her hand. It used to end with the both of them sitting in the Dean's office, awaiting punishment. Now, she supposes, they'll probably end up in jail before the clock reaches eight…Probably. Set a new record, why not?

"I haven't been to bed yet," her friend replies, as if that explains it all. And it kind of does. Poppy notes that her clothes are crumpled and worn, and upon closer inspection the mascara gathering beneath Odette's near-black eyes is flaking off. "I need to use your loo."

Poppy steps aside, because of course she can't say no. "And you were just in the area?" She asks skeptically. Odette ignores the blatant accusation, instead skipping happily to the bathroom and leaving the door cracked open. She can hear the water of the shower begin running and Poppy sighs in resignation.

Best find something for her to wear, then.

"You need actual clothes, or just pajamas?" Poppy calls, already making her way to her own bedroom and rummaging through her little wardrobe.

"I can stay, yeah?" comes the shouted response, echoing off the bathroom tiles and through the entirety of the little flat. "I'm dead tired!"

Pajamas, then. Poppy grabs an oversized t-shirt and some leggings. She hangs them off the doorknob to the bathroom and hazards an inquiry, "Where'd you come from, anyway?"

"— Ah — you know — just had a long night!"

Long night. This far out from Cokeworth…

Right…

Fighting back an amused grin, Poppy falls to the floor beside the door, hugging her knees to her chest. "Was he a _gentleman_?"

"No! But I kind of liked that? Different from Cokeworth blokes we messed with, that's for sure!"

"Gross." Poppy laughs. "What was his name? Should I be expecting a wedding invitation in the near future?"

"— No! Nothing of the sort! And…his name was Peter, or something?"

" _Or something_?"

"We didn't do a lot of talking, okay!"

"I see," laughs Poppy, sort of breathily. It's been a while since she's had the sort of amusement that only Odette's presence could bring. Mostly she spends her time working down the road at Edgar's Arrangements. While it's precisely the sort of work she envisioned for herself back in school, it doesn't change the fact that all work and no play is the exact way to drive Poppy Evans near mad. Odette's timing couldn't have been better, even if it was unexpected and mildly disorientating. Completely worth it. "You fancy him, then? Going to see him again?"

The water shuts off. There's the muffled sound of movement and then Odette appears, clothed, and a towel holding her dripping hair. "…I don't know."

"You sounded smitten just a minute ago," Poppy points out, glancing up at her friend. She watches uncertainty flicker in her dark eyes before a sheepish expression takes over.

"I suppose. It's just — There's — We're still just _kids_ , Pop," her friend admits, sliding down to sit beside her with their backs up against the wall. Odette shuts her eyes, contemplating. "There's a lot of blokes I haven't kissed. This is a thing that needs to be rectified before I start thinking about long-term, you know?"

Poppy nods solemnly. "Very true."

Odette's head finds its way to her shoulder, and she lets out a little yawn. "I'm knackered."

"I've got work in a few hours," Poppy says, getting to her feet and helping the other young woman up along with her. "You can have my bed," she adds, directing her to the tiny bedroom, as Odette was too stubborn to even open her eyes. She plops on the mattress and lets out a pleased sound. Soon enough, she's snoring blissfully. Poppy can't help but snicker to herself quietly as she gets ready for work.

* * *

"Pop," Odette says, later that night over a bottle of wine and the fuzzy background noise of some cheesy soap-opera playing on the telly. The minute Poppy had returned from work she'd been bombarded by all five feet and three inches of her best friend coercing her into a _Poppy Evans and Odette Baker_ night. The kind that used to infuriate Mum on those late school nights, what with their incessant giggling that kept the whole house up. "I know you've been… unwell," she says slowly, as if afraid to set her off. "And this move — it's major, right?"

"It's a new start," Poppy replies, almost autonomously. The words are sincere enough, but they leave a bad taste in her mouth. She's been saying lots of things lately and she doesn't quite know whether they're her own, or born of Dr. Middlebrooke's influence. She's not sure there's much of a difference these days or if that even matters. As long as she plays the part of the well-adjusted individual, who cares about the rest? Work, eat, sleep. That's all that you can really do, isn't it?

That's what living is, isn't it?

"I just…" Looking uncharacteristically grim, Odette pulls a face. "It's been months, Poppy. Months with no word. Susanna started a rumor that you'd gotten yourself thrown into an institution for fuck's sake. Of course, I ripped her a new one for that, but… Then, you were back. And then you were gone _again_. Off for a new adventure, is that right? I'm not here to judge, _you know_ I love you like a sister, but —"

"Odette, I'm fine. I told you, didn't I?" Putting down her own glass, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy herself. She continues, "Petunia had a destination wedding and we ended up staying away longer than expected. Vernon's got family overseas, you know? We both needed a bit of a break after… after the funeral." She tries to ignore the sympathetic look being shot her way. She doesn't need it. It's not doing her any favors.

 _Sometimes all that people can offer is sympathy._

 **But it just brings back the hurt.**

 _Their intentions are good, Poppy._

 **I don't care. I don't want to remember. I don't need to remember. Everyone should just shut up about it!**

"Is that why you didn't make it to graduation?"

"…Yes." Helping with preparations for the wedding had taken up nearly all of her time. She'd barely had time to phone her instructors to mail her diploma to her, in the end. "I'm sorry. I was still a bit on the edge, then. Maybe I forgot to mention it?"

"It's alright," soothes Odette, that particular look just meant for Poppy back in her eye. She sips at her wine, long fingers twining around the rim of the glass and eyes flickering back to the telly. "This is rubbish."

"It is, isn't it?"

"But we're still going to finish it," Odette declares, head falling back to rest on the sofa. "Because we are piss drunk. And life is better when you can believe in long-lost lovers returning from the dead, no?"

Poppy watches the actors on screen stare at each other intently. They're either about to kiss or throw down. She can't really tell in her inebriated state. "Exactly." She turns her eyes back to her oldest friend; her form flopped indelicately on the sofa and almost certainly about to spill wine all over it, still she manages a half-smile. "I missed this. Missed you, I think."

 _I think._

 _I think._

 _Do you?_

 _Do you think?_ _ **Can**_ _you think for yourself?_

"Don't make me cry, Evans," whines the other young woman, though the grin on her face gives her true feelings on the matter away. As expected, the pinkish wine goes everywhere as she makes a sloppy attempt to fling herself to the other side of the sofa to wrap her arms around Poppy. The stain will never come out. Not with club soda, or even if she felt like darting to the bathroom to wet a towel with warm water right this instant and so Poppy accepts it for what it is. And she'll let it stay there as a reminder of nights spent piss-drunk and not giving a shit.

She's missed this.

She knows _that_ much, at least.

* * *

 **POV ? ? ?**

* * *

"She deserves better than this."

"She'll be safer," he counters, though his investment in the matter is limited at best. "Ignorance is bliss, as they say."

"But it's not," Andromeda presses, and not for the first time, his cousin looks truly pained. The faint laughter lines around her mouth become altogether more pronounced as her lips draw into a scowl. "It's not. She — she should have had a choice, at least… Her entire life with her sister, gone. Just like that."

His chest aches.

An unwelcome intrusion of _feeling_.

"If only the rest of us could be so lucky," he says, fortunate that she knows him at least well enough to not pour salt in the obviously gaping wound.

"This isn't funny."

"I wasn't laughing."

Andromeda lets out an annoyed sound that he _knows_ she inherited from her mother, even if the rest of her so-called inheritance vanished the minute she was burned off the tree… It's the little things, really. Her eyes flicker towards the photo still stuck to the wall. He grimaces at the way her own honey eyes fill with something he has no interest in defining. Something that implies far more than what's being presented. "Why have you kept it?"

He stays silent, flipping through another book. Nothing.

"Guilt? Is that it?"

"I wasn't the one to put her parents in the ground."

"But you _could'v_ e been." A knowing look, and he throws aside the useless bundle of words before reaching for another. It's not…what he needs. It never is. There's never enough; the materials all always fall just short of what he's looking for. The irony of it doesn't escape him, having been the poster-boy of shortcomings as of late. "It bothers you that a few years ago you would've complied happily, maybe eagerly. It could've been you."

He grits his teeth. "And yet, it wasn't."

"I already know you're not like them. Not anymore, at least."

And she's the only one.

It doesn't matter. It can't matter.

"I am." He argues blandly. It's a pointless battle. In all his near twenty years of knowing her, he's never witnessed someone able to change Andromeda Black's mind. "I haven't changed. My cause has, but I haven't, not really."

"Maybe that's enough," she offers.

"Maybe," he allows.

The mark on his arm burns.

A permanent reminder that _maybe_ it's not.

* * *

 _Well,_

 _I'm off back to ol' Cokeworth to fuel the rumors flying about you, once more._

 _Maybe this time it'll be that we're lesbian lovers_

 _taken off to some exotic island to live out our days happily_

 _sipping at coconut cocktails?_

 _Kidding. Kind of._

 _Give me a ring if you need anything, okay?_

 _And don't be a stranger and jetset away from your problems again, please._

 _(At least not without me!)_

 _love you lots,_

 _Odette_

She smiles briefly at the note, a warm feeling spreading throughout her entire body. At least, until she realizes that Odette has eaten the rest of her Frosties, and therefore has left her breakfast options at an astounding selection of zero. Sticking the note to her fridge with the magnet once more, she lets out a positively resigned sigh before trotting off to get herself properly dressed.

She gets every other Sunday off, and since this particular Sunday falls accordingly, Poppy supposes she might as well get some shopping done to fill up her barren fridge.

An arduous task, to be sure, but one that needs doing.

Isn't that what living is?

Doing what needs doing and shutting up about it? That's all.

Unsurprisingly, Poppy's put herself in a dour mood by the time she makes her way to the shop. She can't really carry an entire fridge worth of groceries back by herself, so she keeps it relatively on a dire-need basis. Mostly just fruit, and a few frozen dinners for convenience… But the Frosties haven't been neglected, of course. The teenage cashier gives her an odd look for the childish taste in cereal and Poppy returns the gaze with a mild one of her own until he looks away first, flushed.

 _That's nice, Pop. Scaring kids now._

Barely nineteen and already achieving scolding old-woman status. Fantastic.

She whisks away her bags quickly, before the cashier can even offer her a meek ' _have a nice day_ '. She thinks if she were to hear a ' _m'am_ ' at the end of it, she might combust in an unreasonable fit of anger and then all of her work to appear a relatively well-functioning human will be for naught. And she doesn't suffer through two hour sessions with Dr. Middlebrooke twice each week to make absolutely no progress. She's come too far to start falling apart now. She won't.

If she has to live out the rest of her days as a bloody robot, she will. Whatever it takes to just _get on_ already.

Poppy takes her time walking home. The little village feel of the area is calming, at least, and she forces herself to smile at the sight of kids running about in their own little worlds. What she'd give to be that small and careless again… Well, they don't call it getting older for nothing. It's not meant to be fun, is it? She kicks back a stray football that crosses her path and gets a cheerful ' _thanks_!' from a little girl with missing front teeth before she runs off back to her giggling friends.

She thinks back to days spent out in the fields behind their yard with Petunia. Rolling down the hills and picking flowers for Mum as an afterthought to apologize for the grass stains all over their clothes. Futile, because she'd chew them out regardless. Still, the hastily gathered bouquets of wild-flowers never failed to make her smile. Flowers from her little flowers.

"Thank god," Poppy breathes out, finally homebound and relieved. She twists her key into the lock of the building, startled at the door pushing out in her direction, she falls back with a gasp. "Wha — "

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey!" An apologetic voice says at once, sweet in tone. Poppy steps back, glad she hadn't lost grip of her groceries, at least. The woman's kind face is lined with worry, and there's a lilt in her accent that's been prevalent in most of the people she's met in the area thus far. "Oh, I didn't see you coming in. Here, here, let me help you with those," she says, making a reach for some of Poppy's bags and reluctantly the younger woman relents. She lets her take the lighter of the load. "You're on the second floor, yes? The new tenant?"

"Yes," Poppy replies, "But you can just leave those there. I'll come back down for them — "

"Oh nonsense, I may be getting on in age, but there's fight in me yet," the woman laughs, curls of golden hair streaked with gray framing her heart-shaped face. "Poppy Evans, yes? I think I remember my husband mentioning you recently. Lovely name, so it stuck." Her light brown eyes are positively gleaming.

"Thank you?"

"Oh," the woman says, sensing her uneasiness. They both trek up the stairs leading to Poppy's floor. "My name is Hope. You've met my husband, Lyall, I believe?"

Stopping in front of the door to her flat, Poppy nods. The name sounds vaguely familiar, even if the days leading up to her abrupt move were a bit of a blur. "Briefly, but I think so. Nice to meet you, Hope." She unlocks her door and kicks it open. "Um. You can just leave those on the table there. Thanks again, it was really very kind of you to help me."

Hope does so, and shakes her head, "It's not a problem, honey. I've been hoping for a chance to meet you, in any case. Life's funny, isn't it? Just sorry I almost clocked you with the door!"

"I've been told I have a hard head," jokes Poppy. "I probably would've been fine."

At this, Hope smiles brightly. "Funny, too! What a relief. Lyall said you seemed alright, but I'm still glad to have met you at any rate. You just never know, these days."

Poppy glances at her, nodding slightly in agreement. But there's a look in the older woman's eyes that darkens ever so slightly. "Yeah. Gotta be careful..."

"Ah, Poppy? One last thing, and I'll be out of your hair, promise," says Hope, tone more somber than she's heard it yet. "Try not to step out too late at night. A few of the young lads in the neighborhood have been acting up a bit again. Nothing too serious, just… better safe than sorry, I always say."

"Got it," responds Poppy, dutifully. It's not like work keeps her out past five most nights, anyway. Even if it's just for ease-of-mind for the woman, she'll agree to it easily enough. Though, she rather doubts that having her mailbox dented in, or her bins kicked over will have an altogether huge impact on her life, but better safe than sorry _indeed_.

"Good, good," Hope replies, looking relieved. "Well, I'll be seeing you around, then. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to pop on over, alright, sweetie?"

"Got it," repeats Poppy, smiling.

* * *

The phone rings twice before a voice comes on the line with a curt, "Dursley's residence. Vernon speaking."

"Is Tuney there?" Poppy balances the phone between her neck and shoulder while pouring some Frosties into a bowl of milk. She's spent her lazy Sunday cleaning up the flat a bit, unboxing the remaining remnants of her abrupt move. She just has to wait for the movers to bring along the last of it. She's earned this bloody bowl of sugary goodness, she _has._

"Who is speaking?" A gruff voice responds, sounding suspicious.

Rolling her eyes, Poppy drawls, "Only your loveliest and only sister-in-law. Can I speak to Petunia now?"

There's some muffled noise on the other end. The sound of an infant's wailing, and then the familiar prickly tone of her older sister's voice. "What is it?" Petunia demands, though not as harshly as she could've. A small victory, Poppy supposes. "Duddy's been throwing a fit all evening. I don't have time to chat tonight."

"Put him on the phone," offers Poppy, through a polite mouthful of cornflakes. "He likes my voice, it'll calm him down."

"Not bloody likely," Tuney mutters, but soon enough she hears her nephew's watery voice echoing over the line.

"Hello, Diddy-dums," Poppy coos, "Are you being good for Mummy?"

"No," she can hear Petunia begin to argue.

"I wasn't talking to you," counters the younger sister, laughing. At his mother's clearly unimpressed tone, baby Dudley seems distressed. "Oh, pumpkin. Settle down, it's alright, Mummy doesn't mean to be so _rude_. Aunt Poppy will come for a visit soon, does that sound nice?"

The baby lets out a pleased little hiccup.

"He won't sleep."

"He will when he's tired."

"I want him to sleep now," mumbles Petunia, sounding exhausted. There's a bit of murmuring and then Poppy can no longer hear her nephew's little noises. "Vernon's taking him to the rocking chair. Hopefully, he'll get him to rest soon."

Poppy smiles briefly around the spoon in her mouth before popping it back into her bowl and letting it rest there. "Is life with baby all you've ever dreamed of?"

"I don't remember what dreaming _feels_ like." But there's a pause, and then, "He may be destroying my sleep schedule and sanity, but I do love him dearly."

"Well, I think motherhood suits you."

"Oh?"

"You're particularly cooperative tonight," laughs Poppy. "Usually I can't get more than a few sentences out of you before you hang up."

Another pause. "Poppy?"

"Yesssss?"

"I... " She can hear Petunia exhale from the other side. "I'm glad you're alright."

It's not pity, not like everyone else offers. It's mere understanding; solidarity.

 _We've suffered through this together._

 _We'll get through whatever else is to come._

It's meant to be a comfort, and so why does it feel wrong? Incomplete?

Poppy tries to smile. "Yeah, me too."

"Do you have work tomorrow?"

"Ah, yeah. Six a.m." Muddy-green eyes flicker to the wall clock just above the fridge. "I should probably get some sleep. Night Tuney. Give Dudders a kiss for me?"

"Goodnight," Petunia replies simply. "I will. We'll talk later about you coming to visit. Vernon's got family flying in soon, so it will probably have to be after."

"That's fine. I'll have to put in a grant for time off, anyway," Poppy answers, laying her emptied bowl in the sink and filling it with water to soak. "Just let me know?"

"Alright, then."

And just like that the line goes dead.

Typical Tuney. Still, Poppy shakes her head with a fond sort of grin.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _welp_ _. LONG note_ _incoming sorry! !  
_

 _1st of all VERY important: Poppy is a milk before cereal kind of person...her fatal character flaw. _

_ok but seriously_

 _this chapter was a bitch to write bc:_

 _1.) while muggle!life Poppy is fun n' all, it made me realize at least 75% of her happiness came from interaction w/ Lily and now i'm, dead inside._

 _2.) the damage control is real. there are a lot of familiar names mentioned here and they are all on purpose. someone's gotta clean up this mess smh  
_

 _3.) Petunia's part in this is also giving me palpitations bc you just KNOW she's more than happy to weed out any magical influence from her life and by extension Poppy's and i need a Petunia interlude to make sense of shit this is quickly getting out of hand why am i like this_

* * *

 _Someone also brought up a really good question which was essentially: **Why would Poppy be considered unsafe while Petunia's assumed to be completely fine?**  
_

 ** _my answer might not satisfy you but here it is:_** _Poppy was the only one of the sisters home when the Evans were attacked. They don't know how many deatheaters there were, or how closely they'd bothered to study her features. Lily only knows for certain that Snape was one of them. I guess she figures that Petunia already does her best to distance herself from all things ~magic~ anyway and that she'd refuse protection if she tried. Poppy was presumably safe enough at a distance, too, but then the Potters were killed in another targeted attack soon after the wedding and this resulted in Lily basically losing her damn mind. Probably unhelpfully aided by certain *ahem* Order members pushing her along a certain path.  
_

 _I'm not saying the first Order was corrupt as fuck, but I'm not saying otherwise either, you get me? I don't trust Dumbledore as far as I can throw him in any universe tbh and I'm sure it'll become very obvious very quickly  
_

 _(I won't straight up bash the old man, but like, I can't write a Marauders-era fic and not delve into his shady decision making,, particularly regarding the Potters l o l)_

 _OK! I hope that made sense sorry for rambling! & if you're still w/ me on this, thank you~  
_


	16. you poor unfortunate soul

_Disclaimer: ( if you're the type to read author's notes before the chapter - and you ***don't*** want to be spoiled, maybe don't do that this time... maybe) _

* * *

**chapter 14**

 _theme:_

 _[ holy._

 _PVRIS ]_

* * *

Taking the pen in hand, Poppy glances up at Dr. Middlebrooke hesitantly before returning her gaze to the blank page; thinking. She stares for so long at the stark, white paper without blinking that her eyes begin to burn and water up.

"You don't have to try so hard," Dr. Middlebrooke says kindly. "Just write whatever comes to mind when you think of your childhood."

 _That's the problem_ , Poppy thinks sourly. There's not much to recall. With a shaky hand, she manages to scribble out a few short lines.

 _\- fights with Tuney often but playful ones? we got on better with age… mostly_

 _\- gardening with Mum in the backyard on school hols and weekends_

 _\- stories in front of the telly with Dad and before bed_

 _\- meeting Odette in primary school ( she's my best friend )_

No matter how much she writes, there's the distinct feeling of something being missing; like her memories are all there, mostly, but they're hazy and incomplete. Biting her lip, Poppy manages a few more sentences before setting the pen aside and handing off the notepad to Dr. Middlebrooke who takes it in hand gingerly. Nervously, she watches her therapist muse over her scattered thoughts, humming to herself absently.

"Odette," Dr. Middlebrooke's voice cuts through the air in that curt way jolts Poppy out of her (probably) impolite staring. "Your friend. Would you like to tell me about her?"

"Um, sure. What do you want to know?"

"You said you met in primary school?"

"Yes, year one," Poppy almost smiles, remembering how little they'd both been at the time. "Another student stole one of my crayons straight out of my box and Odette took it back once she saw how distraught I was. There were lots of crocodile tears and lots of shouting, probably. I think… that's how it started, though that must've been a while into the year already. Gosh…" _Has it really been that long?_

"So, you've been friends for quite some time," Dr. Middlebrooke smiles, but her bright red lipstick makes it look perhaps sharper than intended. "Do you have many other friends that have been with you for a long while?"

"Well, kind of? None as close as Odette, though."

"Do you regret not having made more attachments as closely as you have with Odette?"

"Not really. Mum always said one really good friend is better than loads of fair-weathered ones… or something like that."

"You don't feel lonely?"

Poppy blinks at the question, though she probably should've expected it. "I mean… moving initially was a little jarring, but I've never had a problem with making acquaintances as necessary. If you're asking me if I cry myself to sleep wishing I'd been more popular in school, then _no_."

"Acquaintances," the therapist repeats almost sternly. "That's a very distinct word to use."

Feeling a tiny flare of annoyance, Poppy finds herself quirking a brow in return. "Is it?"

"You say you have no trouble making acquaintances," Dr. Middlebrooke says, clicking her pen and jotting something down quickly. Her grey eyes flicker upwards, boring into Poppy's green."What about friends? Long term, I mean. Not just the kind you say a quick 'hello' to on occasion."

Poppy bristles. "I make friends just fine."

"Alright, but do you find yourself having trouble keeping them?"

"Are you asking me if I have a tendency to _scare people off?_ "

"I'm not asking to offend you, Poppy. I'm asking because it isn't unheard of for people dealing with grief to distance themselves from loved ones, or to be put off of making permanent attachments completely out of fear."

"I get out," Poppy says, maybe a tad too defensively to help her case at all. "I go to work. Sometimes on weekends I go for brunch with Odette and her friends from Uni. I'm not lonely, and I'm not… _distancin_ g myself, okay?"

Dr. Middlebrooke purses her lips. " _Odette's friends_ ," she repeats.

"Are you going to be doing that the whole time? Repeating my words back at me, hoping it makes sense?"

"You won't refer to them as your own friends. To me, that is very telling."

"Oh, I'm _sure._ "

"Poppy," the therapist adjusts her circle frames, peering over the top of them firmly at her. Poppy narrows her eyes right back. "It's okay to admit that maybe you're afraid to put yourself out there and let people in for fear of losing them. It's not uncommon, and you aren't any less for it, I assure you."

"I'm _not_ afraid," insists Poppy stubbornly. "I've been busy and I live in an entirely new city. There hasn't been time for it, that's all."

"And when there is time?"

"…I'll get around to it. Eventually."

"Eventually is a word commonly used an excuse to put off something. Let's not get in that habit, hm? It's a hard one to break, I've heard."

"But I will! Just… not now, alright?"

"The further you burrow yourself in this hole, the harder it'll be to pull yourself out. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, Poppy, but I think this is something you need to hear and you don't have anyone else willing to say it."

"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with this being your job?"

"I want life to get easier for you, Poppy," Dr. Middlebrooke says gently. "But that won't happen if you aren't willing to work for it, even though I know it's very hard to change. _My job_ is to guide you, but at the end of the day… I can't tell you what to do. You have to want it."

"Surrounding myself with a bunch of people I know nothing about is _not_ going to make my life easier," replies Poppy, furrowing her eyebrows. "I just… want to be able to move on. That's it. No more nightmares, or dreams of things I can't have anymore... I just want it all over with already."

"I'm sorry to say that's not how grief generally works."

"Well, that's how it's _going to_ work with me," Poppy shoots back curtly. "I'm not going to live the rest of my life feeling miserable. I refuse."

Her therapist sighs. "Life will never be as ideal as you may want it to be, Poppy. With the good days will come bad ones. But I promise you do not have to feel miserable every day of your life. That's why you're here, is it not? To learn to manage it. To cope as best as you can." Catching the sour look on Poppy's face, Dr. Middlebrooke laughs softly. "Oh, I wish there were a magic cure for what you're dealing with, but I promise as long as you keep trying, I won't give up either. Not until you're bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever. Deal?"

Leaning back in her seat, letting out a positively defeated sigh, Poppy replies reluctantly with a quiet, "Deal."

* * *

Dr. Middlebrooke also suggested that she keep a calendar. 'Mark important dates, _don't_ forget,' she had explained.

 _Healing and forgetting are not mutually exclusive, Poppy._

 _You can't wish away all your bad memories, Poppy._

 _Your parents wouldn't have wanted that,_ _ **Poppy.**_

It all gets a bit too much. Still, she tries. In the margins of the small numbered squares, she writes little notes to remind herself. Stuff mostly like the day Petunia told Poppy that Dudley was beginning to crawl a bit, she marked that under the fourteenth of October. Odette's frequent visits became red marks, scattered only a few spaces apart with how often she shows up completely unannounced. It seems alright, until she has to write in her mother's birthday — that's when things get a bit shit.

She cries her heart out in the shower, gets dressed, and prays to whoever might be listening that she's not in for a repeat performance anytime soon.

* * *

"Evans," Edgar says gruffly. "Customer up front. I'll take care of this," he adds, gesturing towards her messy work-station, littered with trimmed stems and stray petals alike. Poppy nods absently at the man before straightening out her apron, trying to appear a little more presentable and a little less like she'd just spent the past two hours arranging and plucking at dead leaves…which she has. Just as she's about to close the backroom door behind her, he warns, "Looks like a funeral by the state of him."

Ah. That would explain why he's sending her… Edgar is not particularly the comforting type. Appearance-wise, maybe he can be a bit deceiving. His stark white hair, soft round face, and full beard make him look a bit more approachable than he actually is. He'd sooner herd customers out the door with his blunt way of speaking than pat them on the shoulder in their time of grieving.

"Understood," Poppy smiles to herself. She catches the barest glimpse of him nodding back at her almost gratefully before she disappears through the swinging doors.

As expected, the customer at the front desk is solemn looking indeed, dressed smartly in all black. He's poking through the booklet of arrangements, hard brown eyes scanning the pictures intently. He doesn't seem to notice her presence immediately, so Poppy coughs quietly in an attempt to grab his attention — it works well enough. His eyes flicker to her, and she has to swallow at the painfully serious and almost appraising look in them.

"S-Something specific you're looking for?" she asks, stepping forward just enough to get a fair glimpse at the pages, but not enough to be considered intrusive.

He doesn't take his eyes off her when he replies, "I think I've found it."

 _What the hell?_

Before she can ask _what the hell that is supposed to mean,_ he amends by pointing to an arrangement in the book. "For my father's funeral," he says.

"Oh," Poppy replies dumbly. "I — I'm sorry to hear that."

The man seems to find her obvious discomfort amusing for his lips tilt upwards into a tiny smirk. "Don't be. He was a real bastard."

"Umm. Right, well. That's…fine, then. Would you like to make any alterations or will this suffice?"

"I'm not well-versed in flower-language," the customer says, still looking far too amused for Poppy's liking. "Are there any that mean ' _go to hell_ '?"

Poppy nearly gapes at the blunt question. "Well…I mean, yellow carnations can mean disappointment, but that's hardly appropriate for a funeral, I think…" He raises an eyebrow at her, even goes so far as to cross his arms. "Alright, maybe not… Orange lilies literally mean 'I hate you'. Petunias, in some cases, can allude to resentment or lingering anger — my sister is named Petunia, I can vouch for the accuracy. That being said, I'm not sure how well they'd all look together. I suppose it's only fitting for an arrangement built on negativity to appear, ah, indelicate, though?"

"Hm…"

"Maybe if you have siblings you should talk this over with them before making the final arrangements?" Poppy suggests mildly.

"My brother would insist on not doing anything at all," replies the man simply.

"Perhaps that would be best?"

"And let the bastard get away with the life he gave us? Perish the thought."

"He's still your father."

" _And_?"

" _And_ , I find it more than a little ridiculous that you'd desecrate the final rites of a dead man for some kind of vengeance, that's all."

"You have no ide — "

"He's dead," remarks Poppy stonily. "Maybe he wasn't a good man but now he's a dead one. You aren't going to gain anything by spitting on his grave."

"It'll make _me_ feel better."

"For a while," she agrees reluctantly. "Until one day you have children of your own and you'll be left wondering if one day they'll denounce you in the same way when you haven't got the luxury of time left to put things right."

At this, the man positively bristles, brown eyes flaring. "I'd never be _anything_ like him."

"Maybe that's a thought your father fancied before he had children."

They glare at each other in silence for a long while, neither eager to be the first to back off. After a few moments of icy silence, the man exhales, furrowing his eyebrows at Poppy in derision. "You're awfully impertinent for an herbologi — a _florist_."

"I…" It's not until then that she realizes just how _impertinent_ she really has been. "I really didn't mean to offend, or be so harsh, for that matter. It's not an excuse, but I've recently lost my own father and… I suppose the thought of anyone disrespecting their own fathers in death… I can't really understand because my father was a _good_ man. The best, really. It's not my place to tell you how to handle your own affairs. I… apologize."

"Apologizing isn't easy for you, is it?" It comes with a brief laugh, so Poppy suspects he's not really as offended as he'd let on. That, or her apology had softened him a little.

"I'm not wrong often," she sniffs.

"You're certainly set in your beliefs at least." In other words, _you clearly believe you're right often enough;_ is what he doesn't say.

Poppy lets the slight slide. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You know?" He comments, stretching his arms out in front of him and an almost pleased expression upon his angled face. "I think I've already gotten what I came for."

As he turns to make his way out the door, Poppy calls, "But you didn't even place an order!" _And I'm paid on commission… Should've kept my bloody mouth shut. Way to go, Evans._

The man glances over his shoulder, eyes crinkling in clear amusement. "Think maybe I won't do anything for the sorry bastard after all. Better that way, right?" He gives her a cheeky grin before he's gone; the tail of his long, expensive looking coat billowing out behind him.

She watches him go, bewildered and more than a little peeved at losing a sale. (Even if it is entirely her big mouth's own fault.)

* * *

 **POV ? ? ?**

* * *

The area is crawling with Order. They aren't exactly the subtle sort, always bustling about in their conspicuous robes, wands blatantly poking out in plain sight. No, they are anything but subtle...Sloppy, is what he would call them if given the opportunity. He'd cast a quick glamour on himself to mask most of his defining features before apparating out of the safe house, which is a good thing because as he wanders through the streets with purpose, he catches a glimpse of a vaguely familiar shock of red-hair lingering just a few blocks down from the shop, taking on the facade of a street-cleaner. Interesting. More babysitters, then? For _one_ muggle?

 _"She's under Order protection still," Andromeda had said. "But I don't trust it. I don't know why Lily did. Something about this situation is...off."_

 _"And?"_

 _"You've been whinging about getting a bit stir crazy," Andromeda's tone became quite coy. "You won't be recognized in a Muggle city, especially glamoured-"_

 _"No. Absolutely not."_

 _"It would give me some peace of mind."_

 _"She's in the same bloody building as the Lupins," he replied exasperatedly. "The Deatheaters aren't going to risk an unprovoked attack on a fucking werewolf of all things, Andy."_

 _"I'm not worried about her being attacked, you little dolt. I'm worried about the constant tampering with her head!"_

 _"You don't think her mental state was compromised more when she remembered nearly dying in a pool of her own blood?"_

 _"You really do think this is best," she had the nerve to sound almost astonished. "How would you feel if you had your memories taken without your consent?"_

 _"I don't suppose I'd feel anything," he answered crisply. "Because I wouldn't exactly have the capacity to do so, would I?"_

 _"_ Or _because you're a heartless little twat."_

 _"Well. That too... Obviously."_

Andromeda was as Slytherin as he, in the end; a true manipulator at heart. She plays to his interest in the Potter's newborn son - his suspicions, or what she can ascertain from his vague allusions at least. He never tells her everything. He can't. He's just barely interested enough to see if there's anything particularly striking about this muggle; anything that might draw (further) attention from the Dark Lord's end. It doesn't seem likely, but it's been a while since he's left his damned safe house anyway. There's a lot of harm that could be done should he be recognized, despite his extensive precautions, but that doesn't seem bloody likely.

He's a dead man walking, after all.

 _"One more thing," Andromeda had said; a clear warning, if he'd ever heard one. "Don't scare her. You're just there to make sure she's well and to stretch your legs, remember."_

 _"No promises."_

 _"I'm serious, Regulus. Don't be a prick."_

 _Serious_ , _indeed,_ he thinks. The minute he lays his eyes on the girl - _the muggle_ \- he can practically the magic encasing her; emanating off of her. The things they must have done to her head to have this sort of lasting effect... He tries his best to focus on the booklet before him instead. His pity, reluctant as it is, will do her no good. Other than the obvious, there's nothing particularly remarkable about her. Nothing he could see that would draw the Deatheaters' ire, aside from her unfortunate blood status and her sister, that is.

That he feels a pang of pity for her being in similar circumstance; shadowed by an older sibling, bearing the consequences of their actions alone. That he can relate makes it a little harder to dismiss her as an entirely lesser being and he doesn't like it. Not one bit.

- _Especially_ as she berates him for his dismissal of his father. _His father_ who would've seen _her_ put down like a dog for the lack of magic in her blood. Easily and without remorse, even.

And while his father's already had his last rites performed, over a year ago - mere months before his own supposed death - in a sombre affair orchestrated by his grieving mother, it still feels only right to send him off one last time with a proper ' _fuck you_ '.

But then she has to open her mouth like she could ever possibly understand. And then she has to correct herself and apologize and make him _wonder._

When he leaves, he finds himself peering over his shoulder for one last look at her positively indignant expression. He doesn't mean to.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _*Adele voice* Hello, it's me. (And I'm so sick of moving, and the last & final moving day is tomorrow p much...I could cry.) I have the next chapter written already so update soon-ish, but idk when I'll be getting internet again so no promises. I'm v sorry it took so long but between moving & losing motivation, this chapter was a pain and I've read it so many times now that I'm 100% sick of it so please just take it from me lmao. It definitely feels different from the other chapters and I'm not sure how I feel about it but again I feel like an update is overdue and necessary. If it's not melding w/ the rest of the story, let me know and I'll try to edit or rewrite accordingly._

 _Anyway_

 _YA BOI HAS MADE IT! is anyone even surprised, tho._

 _I'll wait a few days before tagging the main ship, so I don't ruin it for anyone who may not have caught on yet but WE'VE MADE CONTACT_

 _(also how funny is it that Poppy inadvertently and unwittingly defends a blood-purist. Reg the entire time must have been like... HONeY,, ,,_ _what are u DOING)_

 _ok bye. and thank you for sticking with me i appreciate u. yes u_


	17. interlude: regulus

_disclaimer: Warning: soft boy feelings ahead_

* * *

 _ **interlude: regulus**_

like a knife in the woods,

you hunt down the good in me.

 _[ the good in me._

 _jon bellion ]_

* * *

The rush of his own blood roars in his ears as proof he's still alive. Barely.

He's got nothing left in this world but the burning of his arm, this _damned_ locket, and Kreacher.

* * *

He thinks of going to Sirius. Once.

That thought is quashed as soon as memories of him crying out, reaching out for his older brother as he left for the final time come to mind; the last time he's said more than two words to his brother and it was nothing kind or worth repeating. And maybe it's fear of rejection that holds him back in the end. Or _maybe_ it's spite — that seems more in character, doesn't it? He's always been the cold one of the two of them, hasn't he? Detached, less emotional. It seems a bit ironic, now, that he finds himself with a bleeding fucking heart when the rest of the world seems convinced he lacks the artery completely.

But here he is — bleeding, in more ways than one, and mentally exhausted.

 _It doesn't matter,_ he thinks to himself blearily. It doesn't matter because approval is not what he's after.

He just wants to do the right thing. Just this once.

Kreacher does his best to tend to his wounds but house-elf magic is limited for a reason. They aren't meant to be particularly clever, or useful for anything more than cleaning out the cupboards and serving up dinner. Kreacher's always been more, though. Better. It's enough to keep him alive which is nothing short of a miracle. (Or an omen.)

He lives, despite the odds. Despite the world working against him, and despite the voices in his head telling him that he should've died for his sins like a good son, brother, _failed_ _Deatheater._

The problem with being dead, though, is that's exactly the sort of thing that costs you your inheritance and connections. Yes. That. He has to send Kreacher back, eventually — keep mother from getting suspicious, keep her placated. Regulus never anticipated that in her grief she'd release the house-elf from his contract entirely. Kreacher seems pleased, however, and Regulus is just glad to be _not alone_ for a little while.

He's got nowhere to be and a whole lot of purpose.

He's got a horcrux to destroy.

* * *

Andromeda doesn't respond well to Kreacher's messages, likely she thinks it as some sort of trap… Which is fair, given the Black family history of producing psychopathic heirs and heiresses alike. It isn't until he writes her as directly as he can without risking complete exposure that she finally settles down the slightest bit. She agrees to meet with him.

He's purposefully modeled his glamour after Uncle Alphard, taken on the alias 'Al' to keep things simple. She'll recognize him easily enough, and maybe since she won't actually have to look at his despicable little Deatheater- _defect_ face, she won't hex him into the next century. Maybe. It comes close, as her hand itches for her wand pretty clearly. Somehow, miraculously, she refrains.

"I ought to kill you myself," she says coldly. " _Sirius_ ought to. Have you even…? Does he even know you're _alive_?"

"I fear if he did, I wouldn't remain living for very long, cousin," Regulus replies dryly.

 _He hates me. Let him. Safer that way._ The words are far too noble to ever cross his lips and so they don't.

"…Prat," she spits, along with several other venomous choice words. She gives him a real, proper thrashing. The kind his mother might've given him if he had ever been anything other than the model child growing up — the kind of verbal beating that was always specifically reserved for Sirius. Regulus almost smiles when she swats him upside the head and buys him a hot meal, telling him that death has made him much too thin.

He doesn't tell her about the locket. Safer that way. Just tells her that he's playing for the other side, his own side, maybe, since he frankly doubts the Order would take him — not that he's got much faith in them sorting this war out either, honestly — He's the only one who has got any idea just how _fucked_ things are.

And he's going to be the one to put it right, or he'll die trying.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _PSA: Regulus Black Deserved Better And To Live thank you that'll be all_


	18. they won't know who we are

_Disclaimer: fluff of the Dursley variety ( ya, i know, i'm shocked too ) & confrontations _

* * *

_**chapter 15**_

 _theme:_

 _[ let me take you there._

 _plain white t's ]_

* * *

It takes three separate trains and one taxi to reach Little Whinging. By the time the vehicle pulls up to a house almost identical to the others littering the little street, Poppy's eyes are shutting and the taxi driver's covert coughing fit is barely enough to startle her fully awake. She thanks him with a yawn gives him a few notes for a tip after he helps unload her minimal luggage. As he drives off, she waves before turning her tired eyes back to the beautifully plain looking home.

"What happened to settling for nothing less than a renaissance castle, Tuney?" She asks aloud almost glibly, knowing very well she isn't going to receive any answer. Poppy rubs at her eyes once more, yawning and grabbing at her luggage's handle and rolling all the way to the door. She does her best not to trample the wilting begonias Petunia's clearly obsessed with along the way and knocks at the door once.

There's a bit of muffled arguing, maybe a few solid minutes of it, before the door opens to reveal a haggard looking Vernon. She doesn't think she's ever seen the man look so disheveled before. His tie isn't even done all the way. "Tough morning?" She jokes.

He simply glares at her before stepping aside. "I'm late for work as it is, I don't have time to be dealing with you. Petunia is upstairs with Dudley."

It's not so much a directive as an order. "Right, okay," Poppy tries to smother her amusement. "Want me to deal with that for you?" She nods at his tie, and he lets out a string of unintelligible grumbles that she registers as ' _I think bloody not._ ' and so she lets it be. "Alright, then. Have a good day. Dudley will be in good hands."

Vernon doesn't acknowledge her at all before he's out the door, hands fumbling at his tie as he makes for his car. Poppy finds herself pursing her lips as she watches him go, wondering just when Petunia's ideals had morphed into… this.

 _Well, isn't that life? Compromise?_

Poppy hates that the older she gets, the more she understands the sentiment. It feels wrong, like she's cheating her childhood self by sitting down and accepting the limitations of real life. But that's the thing, isn't it? You're supposed to live in between fairytales and bedtime stories as a child, and you're supposed to let your imagination run wild and wander lengths that your grown mind couldn't possibly fathom. You're supposed to grow up and realize it had all just been a short-lived dream.

Compromise, indeed.

Glancing over her shoulder as the door slams shut behind her, Poppy heaves out a weary sigh. She drops her suitcase behind the parlor sofa and makes a bee-line for the staircase to her wailing nephew. She's barely halfway up before she hears Petunia cry, "This sweater was brand new!" And the sound of pitiful sobbing that follows.

Poppy breaks into a brisk sprint, stopping just outside the nursery door. She knocks once before barging in — at least she knocked, at all, okay? — and with one look at her sister she snorts, though she quickly tries to hide her amusement behind her hand. Petunia glowers at her, blue eyes shimmering with big, streaming tears. She supposes she shouldn't find the sight of her sister's distress funny, but… Poppy snorts again, quickly finding her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "You just wait until you have kids," she says, and it sounds like a threat if Poppy's ever heard one. Petunia even goes so far as to toss a pointed finger in her direction and everything.

The brunette makes a sort of ' _who, me?_ ' gesture before padding her way over to the wailing baby. "Give him to me," demands Poppy, already soothing a hand over Dudley's precious, blond curls. "Hello," she coos, and though he still looks a bit green in the face, Dudley makes adorable noises back at her and she's an absolute goner.

"I'm going to wash up," Petunia declares, looking down mournfully at her likely irreparably ruined cashmere sweater. Poppy might feel a bit sorry for her if she wasn't completely positive she had a closet full of identical blouses awaiting her retrieval.

"He didn't mean it."

"I know that," her older sister snaps, but when Dudley's eyes water at her tone, her entire expression softens. As she passes, she presses a kiss to Dudley's cheek. "It's alright, sweetums. Mummy isn't mad. Mummy loves you more than all the sweaters in the world."

"Wow," Poppy says, a bit indignant. "Whenever I ruined one of your blouses, I seem to recall you refusing to be placated until blood had been shed. Specifically; _mine_."

"You weren't nearly as cute," responds her sister dryly, giving Dudley one last kiss before darting out the door, presumably for the wash room.

She watches Petunia go before letting her eyes flicker to the baby gurgling in her arms. "Guess it's just you and me for a bit, then." At her apparent enthusiasm, Dudley places a chubby hand on her nose, giggling. For the first time a while, Poppy laughs too.

* * *

By the time they make it through breakfast, Dudley has already been through three different sets of clothes and two nappy changes. Poppy vaguely recalls grimacing her way through the blunt lessons Petunia forced her through, effectively suppressing the traumatic memories of the rest. If she never sees a used nappy again in her life it will still be too soon. They spend the remainder of the morning with Poppy sitting on the parlor floor with Dudley playing with some toys, and Petunia — predictably — tidying up her already opulent house.

"Oh no!" Poppy cries as Dudley knocks over his alphabet blocks. When she sees his baby blues begin to water up, she's quick to start stacking them back up. "Don't worry, love. Easy fix."

He claps and giggles before knocking them over once more — and _that's_ the precise moment where Poppy swears off having children until she's at least thirty.

"How do you have the energy for this?" She asks her sister as she passes dusting the lampshades. "He never stops. When is nap time exactly?"

"Not until mid-noon," replies her sister, smirking a bit at Poppy's haggard appearance. "Otherwise, there's not even a slim chance of him sleeping through the night."

"And how often does _that_ happen?"

"… Never," comes the honest, reluctant reply. "Yet." She doesn't sound particularly hopeful for the future.

"Brilliant," Poppy says, though she huffs a laugh, and gets to her feet. She brushes out the creases in her blouse and stretches. "So, are you done pretending to clean? We both know every inch of this house is spotless by now. I could use a walk, or something. Maybe some fresh air."

Petunia's expression sours before quickly smoothing out. "I'll take him, then — "

"What?" The brunette shakes her head, as if her older sister is being ridiculous. And she _is_ , but that's rather besides the point. "Grab his stroller. We'll go to the shops or something. I'm not leaving _you_ in this stuffy house, either."

"You don't want to go to the shops with a screaming infant," her sister says, though Poppy knows her well enough that she's slightly touched by the suggestion.

"Try me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," gripes Petunia, though it's impossible for her to hide her subtle smile. Poppy pokes her tongue out at her back as she retreats, presumably, to get dressed. She looks down at Dudley and scrunches her nose up at him as she takes him in her arms, "I think I just won an argument with your Mum for the very first time. This is one for the books," and she kisses his pudgy little nose.

* * *

Okay, maybe Poppy should have heeded Petunia's warnings a little more seriously. The brunette glances around warily as reproachful eyes stare them down. But what is she supposed to do? Petunia's already tried checking his nappy. Poppy's been carrying him the whole way, his stroller practically forgotten, and her arms are positively spent from rocking him back and forth. She's convinced that he's screaming just to prove his mother right. That's the only explanation.

She should've known nothing good could've come from mixing Petunia's stubborn genes with Vernon's.

"Please," Poppy pleads quietly, passing an older woman who gives her _a look._ A look that plainly says she should not be allowed to care for an actual human child… A sentiment that she, herself, finds herself agreeing with wholeheartedly. Petunia had taken off to finish her shopping in peace which is probably for the best. Petunia's always had a harder time dealing with being socially ostracized. Poppy's always been much more shameless. Except for now, when she's certain the entirety of the shop is convinced she's a failing, young mother. "Dudley, please stop," she says in between soothing hushing sounds.

He doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Go figure.

"What do you want from me," she asks miserably. "I'm doing my best," she assures him, cradling him once more, patting his head of soft, blond curls.

Between hiccuping sobs, as she pulls him back, Dudley fixes her with a sort of dark look that might seem more appropriate on his mother's face. It takes her back a bit. "Oh my god," Poppy whispers, sure that she looks positively mad to the other shoppers. "You know exactly what you're doing."

He tugs at a fistful of her hair. She's still too shocked — caught up in her baby conspiracies, truthfully — to even wince.

She isn't drawn from her own muddled thoughts until a voice behind her, sounding far too amused, says, "Cute kid."

Poppy turns around, slowly, contemplating just how she's going to verbally disagree without sounding like the _World's Worst Aunt._ "Really?" She asks, sizing up the stranger. His shock of red hair is pulled back into a short ponytail and he's dressed rather smartly, but what catches her attention is the splattering of freckles on his angular face; like constellations. "He's a lot cuter when he isn't trying to make me look like a madwoman in public, I assure you."

The man smiles, his eyes crinkling with the gesture. She stares, ignoring Dudley pawing insistently at her face. "I don't know. This is pretty adorable."

Poppy's face heats up, and she can feel herself going splotchy red. She pries her nephew's tiny hands from her face gently, and bites her lip, turning her eyes back to the handsome — and possibly flirting with her — stranger. Isn't this what Dr. Middlebrooke suggested? Making friends? She can do this. She can be sociable, even with a screaming infant in tow. Probably. "Oh, yes. Nothing about this is humiliating in the least," she says lightly. When he doesn't respond with anything more than a grin, she panics and begins to backtrack. "Um. I should probably go find Tun — Um, my sister. His mother. He's not mine? Did I mention that? I mean, not that it matters, but — "

The man chuckles at that, and Dudley quiets — _intrigued_.

 _That makes two of us_ , Poppy thinks, glancing in wonderment at her miraculously silent nephew.

"I have nephews of my own," the man replies, seemingly understanding the reason for her astonishment. "I find that agitated babies rather like when you make absurd faces at them, see," and to prove his point, he contorts his face a bit ridiculously. Poppy blinks, stunned, while Dudley claps his little hands together in blatant delight. When the stranger uncrosses his eyes and un-pouts his lips, he offers her a charming grin. "Works like magic."

"Consider me enlightened," replies Poppy, a bit dumbstruck. She makes a silly face down at the blond baby in her arms, and he beams up at her, seeming to say: ' _Yes, this is what I wanted all along. Dance, puppet, dance_!' And her conspiracies about evil, manipulative babies return full-force. "Huh. I think he likes your face better," she remarks, only slightly offended. She likes his face better, too.

"Most people do," the stranger responds with a wink. But then something about his expression twists, and Poppy can't possibly imagine why. She glances over her shoulder to find Petunia strolling up with her trolley — looking positively furious.

"I think I'm in trouble but I don't know why," Poppy says, all hushed and quiet. "At least this one's not screaming his bloody lungs out anymore."

"I should go, now that the day has been saved," the man says, not taking his eyes off Petunia. Though, for a split-second his eyes roam Poppy's face, looking a bit saddened. "I'll see you around — " For some reason, his sentence sounds incomplete, as if his tongue is itching to add something he can't bring himself to. He gives her one last forlorn look before retreating around the next aisle.

Poppy stares after him, confused, feeling a bit sick. "Goodbye…?"

"Who was that," Petunia demands, taking Dudley from her at once. She checks him over, as if Poppy would ever be daft enough to hand him over to a stranger… Even a handsome one. Honestly…

"I don't know," Poppy answers, now annoyed. "Why did you scare him off? He was fit. And _funny_." Which are pretty much the only pre-requisites she has regarding partners, if she's being honest. "Just because you're married…" She tries to joke, but Petunia is having none of it, it would seem. Her face is pinched in the way it used to get when they were kids and Poppy would do something inexplicably stupid and reckless. "Seriously, what is your problem?"

"You should know better than to talk to strange men, Poppy. For goodness' sake, you're nearly twenty — "

" — _Strange men_?" In Poppy's opinion, men don't get much stranger than _Vernon Bloody Dursley_. "Petunia, I'm a bit old for this lecture. Please. He wasn't the scary kind of bloke, can you just please trust my judgment for _once_? I'm not an idiot."

Petunia's eyes soften, almost imperceptibly. "… I'll never stop worrying about you. No matter how old you get, even if you ever do grow out of your dimwittedness — "

" _Dimwittedness_?! Careful, Tuney, that was _almost_ sweet."

"Shut up. Let's go, it's almost time to put Duddy down for a nap." Poppy doesn't miss her shooting one last dirty look in the direction the handsome stranger had gone.

 _Honestly_.

She rolls her eyes.

* * *

 **R.A.B**

* * *

"Your wand is poking out of your boot," he remarks snidely, enjoying the way the ginger man startles at the sound of his voice. "Oh, but don't get me wrong. Despite your blatant skirting of Wizarding Law, it was really a very sentimental scene. The way you almost slipped and said her name — truly heart-wrenching."

The ginger — a Prewett, by the looks of him — narrows his eyes, but still deigns to pull his wand out and shove into a pocket of his coat. "How kind of you to remind me. Have we met?" The question is clear. _Who are you? Why are you this close to a muggle under Order protection?_ Based on the familiarity he'd displayed with the girl, maybe it's even a bit of actual hostility. Mostly, though, it's just so predictable that Regulus has to resist the urge to sigh. It's a close thing.

"No," Regulus answers honestly. They were hardly in the same year, or running in the same circles, back at Hogwarts, after all. How refreshing it is to be able to tell the truth, for once, in a way that clearly infuriates his conversation partner. His very favorite kind of honesty. "But you were so obvious that leaving you to your own devices was becoming physically painful to watch."

"That's good of you," the Prewett replies; his biting tone suggests it's anything but. Regulus almost smirks; this having been the most direct engagement he's had with someone magical, aside from Andy, as of late. He'd nearly forgotten how much he enjoys getting under the skin of other people. He stares Regulus down, as if hoping to inspire some sort of friendliness or kinship in him. Not likely. "Gideon," he introduces himself with an outstretched hand. Regulus stares down at it, pursing his lips. _But you already knew that, didn't you?_ His eyes seem to say. So. Not as stupid as he'd originally assumed. Good to know. "You are?"

He takes the hand reluctantly. "Al," he answers, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"Al," repeats the redhead, a little too effective at keeping the suspicion out of his voice. "Thanks for the heads up, then. You come 'round Surrey often?"

 _Why are you here?_

"No," Regulus replies, offering nothing else. He almost breaks and smiles when Prewett's expression becomes more than slightly agitated.

"Right," Prewett says loftily. "I suppose you were just taking a quick stroll and happened to find me?"

"Sounds about right."

"Right."

Regulus quirks a brow at the man. _Ask me. I dare you._

Gideon — and if it's actually _Gideon_ and not his equally moronic twin remains to be seen — seems to inwardly war with himself over it for a bit. His eyes become troubled. It's not quite shocking, but a bit unnerving, that he actually does cave. "So, how d'you know Poppy?"

"What?"

"Poppy. You knew I was about to say her name," Gideon presses, not even bothering to hide his suspicion any longer.

"Oh, the muggle," he says breezily. "I ran into her store once. She snapped at me. I don't think I'll be going back. Service left much to be desired."

Prewett huffs out a laugh. "You don't say." There's still lingering doubt shadowing his expression, however. Normally, Regulus would know better than to taunt Order members so directly but isolation hasn't been kind to him. It's been far too long since he's been able to get on someones nerves — that kind of deprivation can make a bloke a bit reckless.

"Look," Regulus begins, laying on the exasperation thickly. "It really was an accidental encounter. I just noticed she was positively coated in magic — rather odd for a muggle, you see — I became curious. I see now my curiosity is quickly going to get me into trouble with your lot, so I doubt I'll be returning to Surrey anytime soon," he says, trying to sound as contrite as possible.

" _My_ lot?"

"You're Ministry, aren't you?" Regulus blinks; the very picture of innocence. He supposes he wouldn't get away with it as keenly if he were wearing his own naturally smug, aristocratic features. Then again, he supposes if he were wearing his own face he'd have already been killed, or worse, hauled off to Azkaban.

Prewett blinks back at him before regaining himself a little. "Right, yes. Ministry."

 _Idiot_ , he wishes he could roll his eyes.

"I'm sorry to have taken up _so much_ of your time," Regulus says; as if it wasn't already being wasted pining pathetically after a muggle... "I'll be off now. Have a good one."

"Right, yeah, have a good one," replies the redhead, a bit dumbly.

 _Too easy._

He walks away from Prewett feeling a bit too satisfied with himself, and a bit too preoccupied with the muggle — _Poppy_. More specifically, her sister — not the shrewd blond — the _other_ one and the _other_ babe.

What a fucking mess.

 _It's not your problem_ , he tries to remind himself as he stalks the streets for an alley to apparate from. But another traitorous voice in the back of his head reminds him that all of it _is_ his problem now because he's the only one who actually _understands_ just how dire this war is about to get.

He kindly tells that voice to _mind it's fucking business_.

It all gets a bit much when the voice snaps back that if he weren't already _knee-deep in it_ , he never would've followed her to Surrey in the first place, so clearly his mind _is already made up._

To reiterate;

 _what a fucking mess_.

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _so basically Regulus is a troublemaker when he's annoyed (jealous), thirsty!Poppy is still a mess, Petunia's 100% suspicious 100% of the time_ — _constant vigilance, bitch,_ — _and Dudley was an expert manipulator straight out of the womb which is entirely unsurprising_

 _also in case there's any concern abt it, there isn't gonna be a love triangle in this story! ! and that's all i'm saying._

 _also, also a massive thank u to everyone still reading + any new readers. i'm still not entirely sure multi-chap fics are my thing, but i'm determined to get through Poppy's story and it's good to know there are ppl willing to come along for the ride_ ೕ(˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ๑)


	19. pick fights with the past, i always lose

_Disclaimer: (non-descriptive mentions of child abuse, basically a lot of yelling) also timeskips... i'll leave a note at the end to explain just in case._

* * *

 _ **chapter 16**_

 _theme:_

 _[ sorry about your parents._

 _icon for hire ]_

* * *

 _ **R.A.B**_

* * *

"Hurry up!"

"I am hurrying," he grumbles, attempting to brush the dirt off his pants. If their mother were to catch him in this state… Just the thought is enough to prompt him to glare menacingly at the back of his older brother's head. He dodges a stray branch just barely and lets out an annoyed grunt. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"We're going on an adventure," Sirius replies, glancing over his shoulder and snickers at the sight of a disheveled Regulus. By the time his eyes move forward again, his shoulders are already shaking with unsuppressed laughter. The traitor.

"An adventure," deadpans Regulus, tone thick with disapproval, even at such a young age.

Sirius ignores his blatant disregard easily — just as easily as he brushes off everyone else. It's a trait that's seemed to skip the youngest Black son himself. "See, I'm off to Hogwarts this year, you'll have to live without me for a few months," he explains in a slow drawl. The unspoken _maybe longer_ hangs in the air uneasily. Instead of pushing, Regulus merely raises a brow at his brother's back. "And we all know how bloody _awful_ that house is going to be without me. Figured I'd leave you with one last memory to hold onto while mother screams about nothing, you know?"

Regulus knows enough by now to hold his tongue and not mention that mother only screams when _Sirius_ is _home_. "How generous of you," he says, instead.

"Isn't it just?" He doesn't need to see his brother's face to hear the smirk in his voice.

* * *

Regulus remembers clearly the day the letter came home, announcing Sirius' sorting and the way his mother screeched and his father retreated to his study for hours.

He remembers the awful gut feeling that kept him awake that night telling him everything was about to change for the worse.

* * *

"You could be Gryffindor," Sirius tells him, more like whispers — _pleads_ — on the train ride his first year.

"But I won't," Regulus replies, the weight of his mother's hands still heavy on the back of his neck, though she's been left far behind back at the station. His eyes flicker up towards his brother who looks dejected but ultimately unsurprised.

"You won't," repeats Sirius, eyebrows furrowing; suddenly angry. "You won't," he says again, as if trying to convince himself. With that, he fixes Regulus with one last glower before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants and storming off to find his friends most likely. He watches his brother go with a blank expression and a sinking heart.

 _Potter_ , Regulus thinks. If his parents were furious over his sorting, it was nothing compared to Sirius associating with blood-traitors.

He won't make the same mistakes. He refuses.

* * *

The day that Sirius leaves, it leaves Regulus numb. It's unsurprising, watching his brother pack furiously, and his mother screaming and casting hexes blindly. His father is nowhere to be found; likely holed up in his study, as usual. He can't stand it for long, eventually Regulus locks himself in his room with Kreacher, trying to distract himself by reading his course books from the last year cover to cover. It doesn't work. His mother's voice is piercing, and he can hear Sirius howling back all too clearly. The stinging in his eyes is equally difficult to ignore.

There's a loud banging from downstairs when it happens; a knock on his door that leaves it rattling on its frames.

"Are you coming?!"

 _What?_

Him? The _snake_? The _prodigal_ son?

"I can't," Regulus says quietly — too quietly for his brother to possibly hear. "I can't… I'm…"

Kreacher hovers at his side, anxious.

" _REGULUS_?"

"Don't you try to corrupt _him_ , you traitorous bloody waste!"

"REGULUS, ARE YOU COMING WITH ME?"

"NO!" He can hear his mother scream. There's some crashing, and the unmistakable buzz of magic — _curses_.

He just wants all the noise to _stop._

"Get your hands off me, woman! Regulus! It doesn't have to be like this, _you can leave_ — "

"DON'T TALK TO HIM, IF YOU'RE LEAVING THEN LEAVE, YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT, BEFORE I END YOUR — "

"REGULUS—"

Somehow, his wobbly legs carry him to the door, and he unlatches the lock. He finds Sirius staring at him, bleary eyed and his usually clear skin is splotchy and pale. "I—" His mother's furious expression causes him to lick his dry lips, and repress the burning tears gathering in his eyes. He exhales, "I know my place. I have no intention of betraying our family and trying to evade it like you." That's what he says. What he means is: _it's easier to stay, why are you leaving me?_

Sirius' teary eyes fill with anger quickly. "Betray them?! They betrayed _us_ by depriving us of our childhood — but you're just like them, aren't you?" He chokes out a strangled sort of laugh. Regulus swallows. "You're just like them…Well, I guess you get your precious heir after all, you fucking hag," he spits at their mother before taking off down the stairs, not sparing his brother even one last glance.

He watches his brother go, and then he watches his name get burned off the wall.

And then?

Regulus Black inherits the life that was always intended for his older brother.

* * *

Sometimes, he catches Potter staring at him _;_ not glaring, but not particularly friendly either.

Just…

contemplative.

Sometimes, Regulus stares back.

Jealous, perhaps, because of how easily and efficiently Sirius has replaced him as a brother.

* * *

The first time he's caught out after curfew, it's by Evans, and predictably, it's a shitshow.

She gives his bruised upper lip a shrewd look, lips twisting downwards at the sight of his disheveled appearance. Tie undone, hair presumably a wreck. If her intensely green eyes linger a bit on the yellowing bruises on his cheek, he's content to pretend he can't see the pity in them. "Curfew was two hours ago," she reprimands lightly, though he has no doubt in his mind that she knows who he is, and what he's done. He's more than certain that Sirius has painted him the perfect picture of villainous little brother with refined and practiced skill. Still, she regards him without prejudice. "You should get cleaned up at the hospital wing. Come on, then."

Her partner — another sixth year Gryffindor prefect, by the looks of him — gives her a wary look. "Are you sure...?"

"Keep patrolling," she silences him curtly. "I'll meet you at the portrait after." Then, her gaze finds Regulus again, and he glowers at her through the fringe of his hair. "After you."

"I can make it by myself," Regulus spits.

"You're a student out after hours," Evans replies stonily. "If you don't want to lose more than the ten points you've already lost, Black, you'll hush up and get moving."

He shoves his hands in his pockets angrily. "Fine."

They walk in silence, because after all, what do they have to talk about? He catches her eying him sidelong more than once, and as irritating as it is, it's not enough of a transgression for him to chew her out for it and risk losing even more points — or detention.

It ends up being her to break the silence. "Are you in trouble?"

He stiffens but doesn't answer.

"Is someone hurting you?" She asks softly.

" _No_ ," he grits out. "And I have no need for _your_ concern."

"Was it Sirius?" Evans presses, clearly not having any of it.

" _No_."

She turns her emerald gaze forward, finally. Her lips purse. "That's odd, because I certainly remember seeing Sirius walking into the Common room nursing bloody knuckles," she says, glancing at his bruising face once more.

His eyes flicker to his feet, frown deepening.

"Just because he's a Gryffindor does _not_ mean I'll tolerate his harassment of another student," she goes on, sounding sickeningly sincere.

"Even if that student is the son of a family that would see you killed for your blood status?" He sneers.

She stops, blinking at him owlishly, before her eyes narrow. "I see."

"Do you?"

Could she ever?

"Yes," Lily replies, sniffing and resuming her walk and easily catching up to him. "I see why he hit you now. You're a bit of a twat, aren't you?"

"So I've been told."

"He's still going to be punished," she continues. "But it's not because I've a bleeding heart for your plight, alright? So wipe that bloody look off your face. You don't want my pity and you don't have it."

He stares at the back of her head disbelievingly.

"Just get yourself seen to," Evans commands, stopping before the hospital wings doors. She pries one open and holds it beckoningly for him. He gives her a nasty glare. "Ten points from Slytherin for being out past curfew." She smiles, green eyes shining in the low light of the hall.

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, already dreading the conversation awaiting him with Madame Pomfrey. He hesitates about halfway through the door, turns to glance over his shoulder at the sixth year Prefect. She raises a brow at him in question. "...It was an argument... at first."

Her eyes narrow in confusion before widening.

"Don't — I mean, I was — Look, don't be too hard on him, okay?" Regulus' eyes dart away, unable to take the sympathy quickly gathering in her viridian eyes. "It's how we communicate now, I guess."

"That's not —"

"Not what? Healthy, normal?" Regulus wants to laugh. "You didn't grow up in the Black family, so don't strain yourself trying to understand. Just..." He gives her one last loaded look.

Evans frowns, but concedes. "Fine."

"Fine," he agrees mildly.

And that's that. Madame Pomfrey fusses over him needlessly, and he spends his night in the hospital wing glaring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.

* * *

The second time he's caught after curfew it's a thousand times worse than a mere shitshow. At least, the result of it is.

He glowers at Potter strutting casually by his side. How the imbecile had ever managed to get Head Boy is beyond him. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have rigged it entirely just to have a matching set of Gryffindors. The blighted idiot even has the nerve to start whistling to himself to fill the silence. Regulus huffs in irritation just loudly enough to draw the messy haired boy's attention. He peers down at him from behind his glasses, raising a brow.

"You're being annoying."

" _You're_ breaking school rules," Potter retorts cheerfully. "Punishment isn't supposed to be fun."

"Cruel and unusual torture is generally frowned upon by polite society."

"Good thing there's nothing of the sort 'round here, huh?"

Regulus snorts.

"It could be worse, you could've gotten detention with Lily. Lucky for you, your girlfriend's the one that ended up with my darling dictator."

"Vanity is _not_ my girlfriend."

"You had her tongue down your throat," Potter says calmly. "It seems pretty incriminating."

"She's _not_."

Potter hums. "Okay. Not my business, anyway. I'm just saying it seems in bad form to go snogging girls you don't intend to make honest women of."

"Fucking end me."

"I'd be glad to give you some advice. I did manage to woo over the best of the best, after all."

Regulus can feel a headache coming on — no. A _migraine_. "And it only took you seven years. Well done," he spits.

"Patience is a virtue," Potter offers 'sagely' but it just makes Regulus want to roll his eyes until they recede into the back of his skull permanently for the rest of eternity. Or until this detention is over and served. Whichever comes first. They stop in front of the Potions classroom and Potter kicks open the door casually, despite the fact his hands are completely free. "You'll be prepping ingredients for Professor Slughorn tonight."

"And you have to be here for that _because_?"

" _Because_ it's my job to make sure you don't slack off. And _also_ to make sure Slughorn doesn't play favorites like we both know he would and let you off early."

"Yes," Regulus remarks snidely. "That would be a tragedy."

"Hey, don't get snippy with me," Potter clucks his tongue arrogantly. "If you don't want to get detention, perhaps be more discrete with your trysts."

"It wasn't a _tryst_!"

It's a long night.

* * *

Andromeda's owl finds him hunched over an immense pile of books. He lets out a groan, stretching as he pries the letter from its talons gently.

It reads:

 _The Potters are dead, except for the babe. They're saying the Dark Lord is gone._

 _As in...gone, gone._

 _The Ministry is after Sirius.  
If you were ever planning on doing something with that knowledge you're sitting on_

 _now is the time._

His first thought is predictably _: Why would the Ministry be after Sirius?_ But then, knowing his brother... The fool probably leveled an entire muggle prefecture in his grief and is wanted for exposure. Idiot.

His second thought, perhaps more worryingly, is what will happen to the child. He knows that insofar as the Death Eaters are concerned, the child was the one most heavily suspected to be the one described in the prophecy. With the Potters dead, he supposes, it must've gone a bit further than just suspicion in the time he's been gone... _Fantastic_ , he thinks broodingly, prying open the book before him with shaking hands. His eyes glide over page after page before finding the desired passage.

 _The Horcrux..._

The knowledge he has could be enough to keep him out of Azkaban — for a _time_ — but is he really so willing to risk it?

And then there's the matter of the child himself.

There's no way the higher ups of the Order won't try to hide him away, knowing what they know. And there's really only one place you can hide a magical child — a magical, _potentially dangerously powerful_ child — isn't there?

It's just a matter of figuring out which sister he'll be left with.

They wouldn't be desperate enough to risk the amnesiac one, surely...?

Then...the other one's a notoriously bitter harpy, so perhaps they would.

 _if you were ever planning on doing something with that knowledge you're sitting on_

 _now's the time_

...For fuck's sake...

* * *

 _timeskips_

 _1st & 2nd - Before Sirius' first year and during. _

_3rd - Before Regulus' first year (Sirius' second.)_

 _4th - Before sixth year for Sirius, fifth for Regulus._

 _the rest are vague or explained thru storytelling as god intended unlike the other messes i created o well_

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _ummmmm... i'm sorry. ;; someone mentioned this story seems a little slow & i agreed, so i guess, time to PICK UP THE PACE which means ripping off several bandaids at once sorry if it seems abrupt! _


	20. run for your life right now

_Disclaimer: warnings: dealing w/ grief in unhealthy ways (avoidance), also wizard ppl doing stupid shit at Poppy's expense but honestly what else is new lmao_

* * *

 _ **chapter 17**_

 _theme:_

 _[ run for your life._

 _the fray ]_

* * *

 _"You know we'll always be sisters, right?"_

 _"… But you're going to be so far away. And Tuney's unbearable lately…"_

* * *

 _we're sisters with nothing between._

 _if one of us falls,_

 _the other will soon be following._

* * *

"Don't sit up so fast," is the first thing she hears upon waking, every bone in her body protesting at her sudden movement. Poppy lets out a low groan, her head spinning manically. She pries one eye open, catches sight of a blurry face that she supposes is meant to be comforting. As if anything about this situation _could be_ comforting. The blurred face focuses a bit more clearly, and Poppy scowls at the sight of him. "I know you're probably feeling a lot of things — "

"My fucking head," she grits out. Even now, hours later, still-life images of her childhood and some after are still plaguing her. Some register immediately, but some she can't make sense of at all… "My _life_ , Remus."

"I know — "

"She let them take it!"

"She was trying to keep you safe," he says, voice wavering. She narrows her eyes at him; the thick scars etched into his jaw, the impossibly miserable look to him. "It was never meant to be permanent."

Poppy exhales, ignoring his pleading look, and instead examining her unfamiliar surroundings. "Where are we?" She demands.

"A safehouse."

"Less vague terms _if you would please_ ," she bites out sarcastically.

"My parents home," Remus says slowly. "The flat under yours."

Of course… Of — bloody — _course_. They didn't even trust her with her memories completely obliterated — she had to be watched. Naturally. "Where is she?" Poppy asks angrily, sitting up. She tears the fleece blanket from her body and tosses it to the floor, uncaringly. Remus flinches at her tone, and maybe under less stressful circumstances she might care. "Where. Is. _She_?"

"Poppy, perhaps you should…"

" _DON'T,_ " she raises her voice, darkly. "Don't try to tell me what to do after this. Don't ever try to tell me what to do, Lupin."

"Poppy, please, just get back in bed, you aren't — "

"I'm not what? _Stable_?" She wants to laugh, but her throat is raw from the screaming the onslaught of memories brought on. "Would you be?"

Remus rubs at his eyes, looking absolutely ghastly and exhausted. "No. I don't suppose I would."

"No," Poppy echoes. "I don't suppose you _would_." Her hands itch for something, anything. As her hands clench into tight fists, her fingernails dig into her palms painfully. She flops onto the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold, cold floor. Poppy's eyes flicker from the ceiling to the floor, the severity of the situation finally weighing down on her. "Why am I here? Why now?" She asks, voice low. "Is it safer now?"

She feels him sit beside her, feels the weight of the mattress sink under his weight. She should still be screaming her lungs out, she should be throwing things and shouting in his face. He was complacent in it, after all, so why does his presence feel comforting? "Safer," he repeats dully. "I suppose you could say that."

"What do you mean?"

"Safer, sure," Remus replies grimly. "But is the world better for it? Some might argue it is. I wouldn't."

"You know," Poppy says, searching his deadened expression thoroughly. "Your vagueness is not helping whatsoever."

He runs a hand over his stubble-ridden jaw and exhales. "I don't… You have every right in the world to be upset with all of us. This situation was handled abominably — from start to finish. Most of us weren't in favor of it to begin with, but… we just weren't in a position to work against our orders. You have every right to distrust me, but… If I asked you for a favor, could you at least try to hear me out?"

She narrows her eyes, but still, she says nothing.

He gives her a broken sort of half-smile.

* * *

These psychopaths.

Perhaps they thought that putting a baby — her sister's baby, nonetheless — in her arms would soften her, make her sympathetic. Instead, she offers them nasty glares when Harry isn't pulling at strands of her hair and gurgling cutely. "Not that I'm complaining," she says. _And maybe I should be_. "But why is he here? With _you?_ "

Remus' eyes dart away, nervously, and Poppy fixes her gaze on his parents instead. Hope Lupin — the woman who'd helped her with her groceries almost a year ago, and all this time… she was working with _them_ … — offers her a tiny smile, almost apologetic in nature. "He's been staying with us for the past week until arrangements can be made — "

Remus coughs surreptitiously. Hope freezes, and Lyall lets out a low, resigned sigh.

Poppy blinks. "Arrangements," she repeats numbly. "Why should any arrangements have to be made? He should be with his parents."

"Poppy, love," Hope begins softly.

"No," she replies, blinking again, only this time the action is strained by the oncoming tears. "You…" She turns to Remus accusingly, "You said it was safer! You — You — !" Harry lets out a discontent hiccup, and Poppy swallows deeply staring down into his curious green eyes; so much like Lily's that it's a bit eerie. She holds him closer, and he cups her cheek with a tiny palm as if he can sense her distress. The tears come faster. "Why…?" She cries. "What was the point in any of it if she was just going to die anyway?!"

"She wanted you safe — "

" _To hell with my safety_ , she had a _child_ ," Poppy bites out. "Maybe your people should have focused your efforts on her family instead of fucking with my head!"

"Poppy," Hope tries again, and Poppy turns her burning, muddy-green eyes towards her angrily. "Honey, if nothing else you must understand how much your safety meant to your sister."

"AND? My safety means nothing to her now, _because she's dead_!"

Harry's nose scrunches up and his lips purse, like he's about to start wailing. Poppy rocks him gently, running her hand up to his messy, black curls. "I'm sorry… I didn't," she murmurs, kissing his forehead gently. "Maybe… you should take him," she tells Lyall, who seems to be the most composed of them all, and because she can feel her hands shaking from oncoming panic already. The older man nods and carries Harry out of the room without so much as a word. "What's the point?" She asks again; red, puffy eyed and snot-nosed. She's never been a graceful crier, that's for certain. "What's the bloody point of any of it?"

"They did take measures," Remus says quietly. "To make it safer. For them, for Harry."

"They didn't do enough, obviously," Poppy spits.

Remus inhales shakily, and Hope crosses the room to put a comforting hand on her son's arm. "That's not… It would've been enough. It _should've_. They… were betrayed… by someone they should've been able to trust." He sounds distraught, manic, and maybe she'd be more sympathetic if he hadn't just turned her entire world upside down.

"Who," she demands flatly, rubbing at her teary cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

"It doesn't matter," he says, "The Ministry are bound to catch him anyway. They don't just let…serial murderers get away, typically." The word 'murderer' comes out thickly, like it's physically painful for him to utter the word at all.

"Why would they trust a serial murderer to begin with? My sister is — was — a lot of things, but daft _wasn't_ one of them."

"He wasn't…"

"That's enough," Hope decides, her own honey eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Poppy wants to argue, but as she glances back at Remus' stricken expression, she thinks better of it. "Today has been overwhelming for all of us, I think, but let's try our best to rest up and take care. I'll get started on dinner. Poppy?"

Poppy shrinks under her expectant gaze. "…What?"

"Perhaps you'd like to spend some time with the little one?" The older woman suggests lightly.

She shrugs, but complies. Inwardly, she wonders if the resemblance of his eyes to Lily's won't be too much for her to handle. Can she look at him, knowing what she does now? As she makes her way to the parlor, where Lyall disappeared off to with her nephew, she knocks shoulders with Remus who gives her one last pained look.

 _If nothing else, at least we're all fucking miserable,_ she thinks bitterly.

* * *

Order members —strange, unfamiliar faces — flitter in and out of the Lupin household. The sense of deja vu that accompanies their presence is almost enough to amuse her, but then, nothing's been able to amuse her these days. She still feels empty, despite holding the majority of her memories again, it still feels as though the most important parts are missing. She knows, deep down, exactly what's missing and she can't bring herself to acknowledge the reality of it just yet. Or ever, maybe.

She keeps Harry close, not liking how the strange witches and wizards regard him with awe. He's a _baby_ , and no matter how they might try to spin the murder of her sister and her husband to fit their agenda— he's _not_ their savior; he's a bloody baby. A baby that's already lost too much, too soon, and she's not about to have him robbed of his childhood to play their symbol for magical politics either.

Things with Remus become a little less hostile, once she can look at him and see _Remus Lupin_ and not _James Potter's friend._ He sneaks her chocolate that she's not supposed to have — something about upsetting her fragile nervous system with too much caffeine, or some other rubbish — and she teaches him how to change Harry's nappy, something that he'd admitted he had no idea how to do, embarrassedly.

Life goes on, but it doesn't get any easier.

She knows there's still talk of the aforementioned 'arrangements' and it grinds down to the very last of her nerves.

Remus tells her that they're thinking of sending Harry to live with Petunia. The most he _can_ tell her, she imagines.

For a minute — a split second, really — she thinks it's for the best. Petunia already knows how to be a mother, after all, and she's got a husband with steady work and a nice home with a big yard. They think it's safer for him in the muggle world, and she agrees wholeheartedly, though the idea of Harry being raised to fear magic puts a bitter taste in her mouth. Lily wouldn't want that. Potter wouldn't stand for it.

She knows what she wants.

She knows that she's never going to manage it.

While the witches and wizards regard Harry as a hero, they regard her with suspicion. They think she's unstable, terribly unfit to care for the savior that's put an end to their bloody war. They watch her unsteady hands as she carries him to and fro, and they murmur behind their hands about how positively gaunt she looks — _how frail._ They keep a keen eye on her when she spoon feeds him mashed peas, and mutter as she wipes at his stained cheeks with a washcloth — _the muggle way._ They all seem to have something to say, and yet, none of them seem particularly rushed to do anything about it.

It isn't until one afternoon that she catches an older greying-haired woman prattling on about how archaic and muggle her practices are that she finally snaps.

"Magic's what got his parents killed," she seethes, somewhat vindicated to see the woman's brows rise and her mouth gape almost comically. She can feel Remus at her back, letting out a sigh, as though he's been anticipating this. Which is ridiculous, because up until now Poppy's been the perfect picture of acquiescence, if she dare say so herself. "So perhaps instead of bitching about how inefficient and barbaric muggle parenting is, your time would be better spent figuring out how to better your own practices and staying out of my sodding business."

An arm pulls her away, gently, and she scowls expecting it to be Remus, preparing to tell her off for being rude. "I'm not going to apologize," she says stubbornly. Harry lets out a giggle at her expression and she gives him a tiresome smile in return.

"Wasn't about to ask you to," a different, decidedly not-Remus voice replies.

She turns, wide-eyed. A crooked smile greets her, along with a nose splattered with freckles and — _scars_? Those are new. Her eyes narrow menacingly. "And where have you been?" She turns again, not willing to wait for a half-baked answer, making her way to the spare bedroom where they'd set up a crib for Harry. She can hear footsteps follow after her, predictably.

"Around," Gideon replies.

"So you have," she mutters, thinking back to her ever present shadows. "You should've said something."

"I couldn't."

"You should have," she persists, and stopping before the crib, she begins to settle Harry in for a nap. He doesn't seem to be having any of it, though, and grabs a fistful of her hair. She clucks her tongue. "None of that, you," she chides, and he pouts up at her before her hands untangle his tiny fingers from her locks.

He sidles up to her side, watches her wrestle with the unhappy baby. "I wish I could have," he says seriously. "I'm sorry."

She glances at him from the corner of her eye and purses her lips. "It doesn't matter now, anyway."

"Doesn't it?"

 _That_ gives her pause, at least. Harry clings to her neck, refusing to be dropped into his tiny crib prison, and Poppy adjusts herself to a more comfortable position and turns to give Gideon a long, meaningful look. "Why should it? Everything's gone to shit." _Nothing matters. Nothing except Harry having a good home, and a peaceful childhood…_

She watches those brown eyes flicker towards Harry, and she hates that the same awe-stricken expression momentarily takes over. Are they all so desperate for a beacon of hope that they'll try to position an actual infant as their savior?

"I'm going to try changing him," she says curtly. "Maybe that's why he won't settle in."

In other words, _don't follow me._

"Poppy Evans _."_

She doesn't turn. "What."

"It's good to see you again. As you."

Her spine tingles, and she leaves the room with a distinct chill in silence.

* * *

 _SIRIUS BLACK_

 _WANTED FOR THE MURDER Of 12 MUGGLES AND 1 WIZARD_

"You've got be kidding me," she says, putting the paper down; a creeping sickness settling in her stomach. Remus isn't meeting her eyes from across the table, he's just got his long, wiry fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. "Remus," Poppy licks her chapped lips, anger swelling in her gut. "The person James and Lily trusted — "

He raises his tired eyes to meet her own. It's enough of an answer.

Poppy tries to recall memories of the man, but it's difficult. After all the — _meddling_ — some things still remain fuzzy. But from what she can remember, she knows the man was something like a brother to James. It doesn't make sense. She doesn't want it to make sense. None of it. A part of her still wonders if she'll wake up from this horrible nightmare to find Lily soothing back her hair just the way she used to after long, seemingly endless night terrors. "Do you think they'll find him?"

Remus makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. "With the amount of Aurors they've got stationed, I can't imagine he'll evade them for very long."

She turns her eyes back to the paper, skimming the text.

1 Wizard.

Peter Pettigrew.

Sweet Peter who shared his Wizarding cards with her, knowing she was impossibly bored and stagnant from being cooped up at the Potter's home… Gone. Just like that. Just like everybody else.

Feeling nauseous, she slides the paper away. "What's going to happen now?"

"Don't worry about that," he tells her softly. "This…This isn't your — "

"Not my _what_?" she bristles. "My mess? Maybe it wasn't at first, but my sister made damn sure it became my problem, didn't she? I know you mean well, Remus, but please don't patronize me."

"Of course," he says in that same off-kilter, broken tone.

Poppy fixes him with a careful look. "You…" Sometimes, in her grieving, it's all too easy to forget that he's lost a brother, too. Three, if you count Sirius and Peter and she can't imagine he doesn't feel their losses as deeply as she feels Lily's. "If you — " _If you want to talk about it_ , she almost suggests before remembering she very much does not want to be reminded of their dire situation.

Suddenly, she's back there — where it all started. She's awkwardly hanging about in her too-tight bridesmaid dress, with an equally awkward lanky man on her arm looking about as ill as she feels.

She swallows. "Alright, Lupin?"

He almost smiles. "Just a bit tired."

It's somehow less comforting, not having Lily and James waiting at the end of the aisle.

* * *

 **R.A.B**

* * *

"You idiot," he grumbles, hands shaking around the newspaper clipping. It's like their roles have been reversed. He's out here trying to play the redeeming son, and Sirius is doing his best to adhere to age-old Black family traditions — terrorizing muggles. It'd be humorous, maybe, if it weren't so tragically and ridiculously out of character.

"You can't honestly believe," Andromeda begins, "That he's actually guilty? Sirius, _our Sirius_ , the one who would tear up at the sight of the caged owls at Eeylops?"

 _Our Sirius._

Right.

Somehow, Regulus manages not to snort derisively in her face. "No. I don't," he answers calmly, though his insides feel like they're being torn asunder.

 _If they catch him…_

"So, what now?" Andromeda asks, haughtily. "How do we… fix this?"

" _We_ don't," Regulus scoffs. At his cousin's incredulous, and borderline offended expression, he mends. "You've got a family to think of, Andy. You are absolutely not getting involved beyond the absolute minimum — "

"Minimum," she repeats, annoyed, and crossing her arms. With that sour look on her face, her resemblance to Bellatrix can't be denied, and it's enough to send chills up and down Regulus' spine. _Ugh_ … "Which would be?"

"Who knows Sirius best?" He asks, not waiting for an answer. Andromeda barely has the time to open her mouth to reply when he barrels on, "That's left _alive_ , I mean."

"Insensitive twat," she mutters.

 _That's me_ , he thinks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Can you make contact with Lupin, or not?"

Andromeda hesitates.

" _What_?" He presses.

He knows that look. The kind that tells him with absolute certainty her people have been up to something very, very stupid. Probably.

"It's nothing," she mutters a little too offhandedly. "I can do it. I'm just not sure how cooperative he'll be feeling considering he's convinced Sirius actually is a mass murderer."

He doesn't believe her for a second, but he's not in a position to push further. "Just get me in contact with him. I seem to recall him being the least stupid of Sirius' friends. At the very least, he's got that going for him."

* * *

 _ **AN;**_

* * *

 _Poppy is too pissed to grieve, Remus is a v sad wolf, Sirius still hasn't been caught ( ? ) , the Prewett twins are still alive for some reason_ (*ﾟﾛﾟ) _Andromeda knows too much and Regulus is about to get the shock of his poor life basically_

 _Also the fact that canonically Remus ( & Dumbledore...?) never let the Ministry kno that Sirius was an animagus is lmao... how did ya boi ever get caught... i'm not buying it sorry even if he was emotionally compromised i think he's way too crafty *and stubborn* to stand in the middle of the street cackling while he knows James' actual killer is still out there. Ur boy was raised by generations of Slytherins and ur telling me he'd give in that easily? hm, it's a no from me _

_For thirsty ppl: (aka me) Poppy and Reg meet (again) next chapter... finally..._


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